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THE COMPLETE POEMS 
OF 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


ee’ 


WITH THE INTRODUCTION TO 
: “LYRICS OF LOWLY LIFE” 


BY 
W. D. HOWELLS 





NEW YORK 
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, 
1918 


Copyright 1895, 1896, 1897, 1898, 1901, 1902, 1903, 1904, 1905 
By Tur Century Co. 


Copyright 1897, 1898, 1901, 1902, 1903, 1904, 1905 
By Tue Curtis Pusiisuine Co. 


Copyright 1898 
By Tue Ovttoox Co. 


Copyright 1898 
By J. B. WALKER 


Copyright 1903 
By W. H. Gannett 


Copyricut 1896, 1899, 1903, 1905, 1913 
By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 


Published, October, 1913 








2) |. DEDICATIONS 
hae hi LYRICS OF LOWLY LIFE 
‘ii eee TO Fee Bate | ae ee. 

MY MOTHER ae ry 


LYRICS OF THE HEAR THSIDE 
TO | 
ALICE 


LYRICS OF LOVE AND LAUGHTER 
: : TO | Nik) : 


MISS CATHERINE IMPEY 


e e 
e 


LYRICS OF SUNSHINE AND SHADOW 
ih 49, 


MRS. FRANK CONOVER 
WITH THANKS FOR HER LONG BELIEF 


tae 
tis ioe 
a 





INTRODUCTION TO LYRICS OF LOWLY LIFE 


I THINK I should scarcely trouble 
the reader with a special appeal 
in behalf of this book, if it had 
not specially appealed to me for 
reasons apart from the author’s 
race, origin, and condition. ‘The 
world is too old now, and I find 
myself too much of its mood, to 
care for the work of a poet because 
he is black, because his father and 
mother were slaves, because he 
was, before and after he began 
to write poems, an elevator-boy. 
These facts would certainly attract 
me to him as a man, if I knew 
him to have a literary ambition, 
but when it came to his literary 
art, I must judge it irrespective of 
these facts, and enjoy or endure it 
for what it was in itself. 

It seems to me that this was my 
experience with the poetry of Paul 
Laurence Dunbar when I found 
it in another form, and in justice 
to him I cannot wish that it should 
be otherwise with his readers here. 
Still, it will legitimately interest 
those who like to know the causes, 
or, if these may not be known, the 
sources, of things, to learn that the 
father and mother of the first poet 
of his race in our language were 
negroes without admixture of white 


blood. The father escaped from 
slavery in Kentucky to freedom in 
Canada, while there was still no 
hope of freedom otherwise; but 
the mother was freed by the events 
of the civil war, and came North 
to Ohio, where their son was born 
at Dayton, and grew up with such 
chances and mischances for mental 
training as everywhere befall the 
children of the poor. He has told 
me that his father picked up the 
trade of a plasterer, and when he 
had taught himself to read, loved 
chiefly to read history. The boy’s 
mother shared his passion for lit- 
erature, with a special love of 
poetry, and after the father died 
she struggled on in more than the 
poverty she had shared with him. 
She could value the faculty which 
her son showed first in prose 
sketches and attempts at fiction, 
and she was proud of the praise 
and kindness. they won him among 
the people of the town, where he 
has never been without the warm- 
est and kindest friends. 

In fact from every part of Ohio 
and from several cities of the ad- 
joining States, there came letters 
in cordial appreciation of the crit- 
ical recognition which it was my 


fave 


INTRODUCTION 


pleasure no less than my duty to 
offer Paul Dunbar’s work in an- 
other place. It seemed to me a 
happy omen for him that so many 
people who had known him, or 
known of him, were glad of a 
stranger’s good word; and it was 
gratifying to see that at home he 
was esteemed for the things he had 
done rather than because as the 
son of negro slaves he had done 
them. If a prophet is often with- 
out honor in his own country, it 
surely is nothing against him 
when he has it. In this case it de- 
prived me of the glory of a dis- 
coverer; but that is sometimes a 
barren joy, and I am always will- 
ing to forego it. 

What struck me in reading Mr. 
Dunbar’s poetry was what had al- 
ready struck his friends in Ohio 
and Indiana, in Kentucky and 
Illinois. ‘They had felt, as I felt, 
that however gifted his race had 
proven itself in music, in oratory, 
in several of the other arts, here 
was the first instance of an Ameri- 
can negro who had evinced innate 
distinction in literature. In my 
criticism of his book I had alleged 
Dumas in France, and I had for- 
getfully failed to allege the far 
greater Pushkin in Russia; but 
these were both mulattoes, who 
might have been supposed to derive 
their qualities from white blood 


vastly more artistic than ours, and 
who were the creatures of an en- 
vironment more favorable to theit 
literary development. So far as 
I could remember, Paul Dunbar 
was the only man of pure African 
blood and of American civiliza- 
tion to feel the negro life zesthetic- 
ally and express it lyrically. It 
seemed to me that this had come 
to its most modern consciousness 
in him, and that his brilliant and 
unique achievement was to have 
studied the American negro ob- 
jectively, and to have represented 
him as he found him to be, with 
humor, with sympathy, and yet 
with what the reader must instinc- 
tively feel to be entire truthful- 
ness. I said that a race which 
had come to this effect in any mem- 
ber of it, had attained civilization 
in him, and I permitted myself the 
imaginative prophecy that the hos- 
tilities and the prejudices which 
had so long constrained his race 
were destined to vanish in the arts; 
that these were to be the final proof 
that God had made of one blood © 
all nations of men. I thought his 
merits positive and not compara- 
tive; and I held that if his black © 
poems had been written by a white 
man, I should not have found them 
less admirable. I accepted them 
as an evidence of the essential unity 
of the human race, which does not 


[ viii | 


ry 
ie 


INTRODUCTION 


think or feel black in one and 
white in another, but humanly in 
all. 

Yet it appeared to me then, and 
it appears to me now, that there is 
a precious difference of tempera- 
ment between the races which it 
would be a great pity ever to lose, 
and that this is best preserved and 
most charmingly suggested by Mr. 
Dunbar in those pieces of his where 
he studies the moods and traits of 
his race in its own accent of our 
English. We call such pieces dia- 
lect pieces for want of some closer 
phrase, but they are really not dia- 
lect so much as delightful personal 
attempts and failures for the writ- 
ten and spoken language. In 
nothing is his essentially refined 
and delicate art so well shown as 
in these pieces, which, as I ven- 
tured to say, described the range 
between appetite and emotion, 
with certain lifts far beyond and 
above it, which is the range of the 
race. He reveals in these a finely 
ironical perception of the negro’s 
limitations, with a tenderness for 
them which I think so very rare as 
to be almost quite new. I should 
say, perhaps, that it was this hu- 
morous quality which Mr. Dunbar 
had added to our literature, and it 
would be this which would most 
distinguish him, now and _here- 
after. It is something that one 


feels in nearly all the dialect pieces; 
and I hope that in the present col- 
lection he has kept all of these 
in his earlier volume, and added 
others to them. But the contents 
of this book are wholly of his own 
choosing, and I do not know how 
much or little he may have pre- 
ferred the poems in literary Eng- 
lish, Some of these I thought 
very good, and even more than 
very good, but not distinctively his 
contribution to the body of Ameri- 
can poetry. What I mean is that 
several people might have written 
them; but I do not know any one 
else at present who could quite 
have written the dialect pieces. 
These are divinations and reports 
of what passes in the hearts and 
minds of a lowly people whose 
poetry had hitherto been inarticu- 
lately expressed in music, but now 
finds, for the first time in our 
tongue, literary interpretation of a 
very artistic completeness. 

I say the event is interesting, 
but how important it shall be can 
be determined only by Mr. Dun- 
bar’s future performance. I can- 
not undertake to prophesy concern- 
ing this; but if he should do 
nothing more than he has done, 
I should feel that he had made 
the strongest claim for the negro in 
English literature that the negro 
has yet made. He has at least 


[ ix ] 


INTRODUCTION 


produced something that, how- enjoy; in more than one piece he 
ever we may critically disagree has produced a work of art. 
about it, we cannot well refuse to 


W. D. HOWELLS. 


~ 


et i 


eS 


ad, 
; 


a lel 


INDEX OF TITLES 





PAGE PAGE 
Me evans te ys 93 Barrigr, THE ..... rece 99 
ACCOUNTABILITY ......... 5 BEHIND THE ARRAS ....... 94 
A ea 250 Bert’ Back HoMe........ 259 
Meerem A VISIT ........... 42, BEYOND THE YEARS ....... Al 
AFTER MANY Days ....... 267 Buiack SAMSON OF BRANDY- 
AFTER THE QUARREL ..... 40 VENT Re CN Ay souuior cytes 205 
rerun VVHILE ......)....- ARRAS TOU g oF Ar oe ein Re eerie ta 253 
ALEXANDER CRUMMELL — BOHEMIAN, LHE® os oe. dae 92 
Naa 113. BoocaH Man, THE....... 185 
6 Bete ta eee slele's 40 Booker T. WASHINGTON .. 209 
DUMGHORED .....200.+00% 256 Borper Batiap, A ........ 48 
eae 138 Boy’s Summer Sone, A ... 235 
ANTE-BELLUM SERMON, AN 13 BREAKING THE CHARM .... 149 
APPRECIATION ............ 247 Brat Measure, A...... 97 
At Canpiz-LicHTin’ Time 155 By Ruccrep Ways ........ 215 
At CHESHIRE CHEESE ..... 129. BY THE STREAM .......... 50 
At LoaFINc-HoLtT ........ 263 
1 Pet MOABIN UUAT ROR ol cay eos 153 
AT SUNSET TImMe.......... ORR CAPTURE, CR ish wale & 275 
AT THE TAVERN .......... yO TACARREM Auten nn Ue i ate 285 
AWAKENING, THE ........ 252 CHANGE Has Come, THE. 58 
CHANGH CIE 22d ed oe 258 
Back-Loc Sone, A ...... ttTA2 oO NHANGING LIME. oy cs ge ass 72 
EY oka sd da o's Phe P GHLASE UELBU SS, Ce ale 258 
MOMGLADE 5. .cseses Ge ee Od OR ELOMOR AN Ls 6 aale ak wa dae 125 
Banjo Sone, A .......... 20 CuHrismus Is A-CoMIN’ .... 153 


[xi] 


INDEX OF TITLES 


CHRISMUS ON THE PLANTA- 
TION, Eloorehak 


CSHRISTMAS iui aceaaretete 
CHRISTMAS CAROL ......++ 
CHRISTMAS FOLKSONG, A .. 
CHRISTMAS IN THE HEART . 
CIRCUMSTANCES ALTER 

RUA GEST es Nac Mat my toate 
CoLorEeD BAND, THE ..!..2. 
CoLoRED SOLDIERS, THE ... 
CoLUMBIAN ODE 
COMMUNION ... 


CoMPARISON 


ecoeeeeveeeeee ee 


COMPENSATION ... 


CONFESSIONAL 
CONFIDENCE, A ........... 
CoNQUERORS, THE........ 
CONSCIENCE AND REMORSE . 
CoQuUETTE CONQUERED, A 

Corn-SonG, A . 
Corn-STALK Fippiez, THE . 
Crisis, THE ... 
COIRIOSITY aii oity 
COUR TAIN Gai italiane i RS 
DANCES HE. Sao onan 
DaT Ov’ Mare O’ MIne .. 
DAWA Sa 
DAY i Eu Ay, piece 
DEACON JONES’ GRIEVANCE 
PO RAD yee ear tn 


DORA ee a 


PAGE 


137 
269 
278 
236 
105 


261 


I1O 


256 
116 


112 


73 
227 


DEATH OF THE First Born, 
THE Je 
DeatH Sone, A 


eoeeeere ee ee ee & & 


Dest, (‘ne se 
De Critters’ DANCE 
DELINQUENT, THE ....... 
DELY 


THE 
DESPAIR ... : 
De Way T’incs CoME .... 
DIFFERENCES 


DILETTANTE, THE: A 
MOopERN [Y¥PER Yeo eae 
DINAH KNEADING DoucH . 


DIPLOMACY 32.0 eats 
DIRGE,* 2). ae ; 
DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER ...... 
DISAPPOINTED ..... PN 
DISCOVERED“) jee Pe ae 


Discovery, TABi were ee 
DISTINCTION 
DisTURBER, LHE}.ces ae 
DOUGLASS”... ee 
Dove, THE 2.2 eee 
DREAM Sonc |... 
DREAM SONG: ] Lapeer 
DREAMER, ‘THE sl. eee 
DREAMIN’ TOWN ......... 
DREAMS is\.j0cs 


[xii 


PAGE 





INDEX OF TITLES 


| PAGE 
meowsy DAy, A .......... 65 


EaAsy-Gorn’ FELLER, AN ... 49 
MMOOURAGED .....5.....: Gifekess' 
ENCOURAGEMENT ......... 184 
END OF THE CHAPTER, THE IOI 
EQUIPMENT 276 
ERE SLEEP Comes Down TO 


SooTHE THE WEARY EyES 3 


MUMMEIIG sy ss ese ses 276 
FIXXPECTATION ..... a ar ES 131 
a as) cig o's aig Sis . 244 
FAREWELL TO ARCADY ..... e224 
Farm CuiLp’s LULLABY, 
Re side's sons 245 
FisHerR CuHILp’s LuLLABY, 
ee aa os ss ee os 244 
REN isis e's oso bis oie 172 
PiromIDA INIGHT, A .<..... IQI 
FOOLIN’ WID DE SEASONS ... 139 
For THE MAN wHo Fairs . 118 
Forest GREETING, THE ... 237 
NS aa aes 240 
Fount oF Tears, THE .... 224 
FREDERICK DOUGLASS ..... 6 
ON a ee . 200 
FROM THE PorCcH AT 
RUNNYMEDE ..... deca ears 
BERET DER iis cde eas 96 
GoLpEN Day, A..... Oy a OT 


Goop-NiGHT 2. 4.0..5 66.6% 
(SOUIRD OEE cys ae ieee 
GRIEVANCE, Alef yoo 
GROWIN’ GRAY ....... ate 


HARRIET BEECHER STOWE .. 
HAUNTED Oak, THE ..... 
He Hap His Dream ...... 


Hoper 


How Lucy BacksLip ..... 
How SHALL I Woo THEE . 


eeoeee ees eee eee ee © © @ @ 


PAGE 


107 
188 


289 


“ Howpy, Honey, Howpy!” 196 


HUNTING SONG accor 
FEY MIN A eke PAOLA 
PEVIMIN eee Ver URIs 
FAVMNG Se eae as 8 
Tei oe 4 MaMa ate MIRO OMLT Ser a calle 
IONE FoR ash cal UPan ee amare 


IN AN ENGLISH GARDEN .. 
INCA GUST Ye Se toe 


In May 


IN THE MLORNING Wie eo oss 
IN THE TENTS OF AKBAR .. 


INSPIRATION 


James WHITCOMB RILEY .. 


[xiii] 


oe ee eee ee eo ew ow © 


see see 


223 


287 





INDEX OF TITLES 


PAGE 
EALOUS cis oe GE pirat Gee 145 
UTED Uae) tie's HARON ae Si ls coe 136 
JOGGINISRLONG |), 3g itu 165 
JOHNNY SPBAKS 2 je), )2 ga 235 
Just WHISTLE A BIT ...... 98 


KEEP A-PLUGGIN’ AWAY .... 46 
KEEP A SONG UP ON DE Way 169 


FR IDNABED ae cueing ae 255 
Kinc Is Dreap, THE....... 105 
KNIGHT) (DHE eee ee 108 
LAPSES CHE yuo ele 122 


Lawyers’ Ways, THE .... 22 


LIA ZTN SAY A pict ss aia 249 
TSESSON | DHE sles Lica wane 8 
PETTER MAYS atcha wena I51 
A boy ae ar ie ete Da tbs 8 
Live's PRAGEDY Sieh Siac 225 
MELT WEGAT cab eiel bee Wee eA 207 
LILY OF THE VALLEY, THE 237 
LAMITATIONS Oy otatin serene 250 
TEEN ODEN OY Gacis cvederetiie keene 184 
Litre Brown Basy ...... 134 
LiTTLE CHRISTMAS BASKET, 

BAC AS A ae 174 
LittLte Lucy LANDMAN 107 
PEA IVUAY iia iol Oa ee 267 
LONESOME cu oy Lua 79 
LONG Aco ah Dee 192 
"LONG To’ps NIGHT ....... 187 


oeoeeoeaeoeeeeeee 21 


PAGE 
LOOKING-GLASS, THE ...... 206 
Lost DaEaM, Ale 20 
LOVE’... 502) eee . 103 
LovE AND GRIER). ee 102 
Love DESPOILED?. yee 122 
Love Lerrer) Avo. 2a ee 
LovE-SONG) 225 poe 210 
Love Sonc, A..... Sieselacnte teed 
LovER AND THE Moon, 

THR). Seu Se erate S| 
Lover’sS LANE ose 132 
Love’s APOTHEOSIS ....... 89 
Lovz’s: CASTia eee 201 
Love's DRART iat eee 252 
Love’s HUMILITY Joe eee 106 
LovE’s PHASES. 2. see PANT i, 
Love's, PICTURES ewe 282 
Lover's: SEASONS: 4eny Se 215 
LULLABY.) sae I44 
Lyric, A‘u) ae 288 
MADRIGAL, Al hontai eet 287 
Mare RUBRUM ....... ous Fe 


MAsTER-PLAYER, THE .... 17 


MASTERS, HES eee 268 
Merapow Lark, THE ..... 71 
MELANCHOLIA Sanu aaa 54 
Memory oF MartHaA, THE 194 
Merry AUTUMN]. }s oun 56 
Misty Day, AS. 207 
MISAPPREHENSION ........ 117 
Monk’s WALK, THE ..... 209 


[xiv ] 


NE Sh Se 


INDEX OF TITLES 


MPEEN GS 8 se ce ca owe 
Morninc Sonc oF LovE .. 
Oe er 


miiy CORN-Cos PIPE ...... : 


My Lapy or CAsTLE GRAND 
My Lirtite Marcu Girt .. 
My Sort 0’ Man ..... oe 
My Sweet Brown Gat ... 
Mmereey, [HE ...-.8..... 
Mawetic DEA, LHE ........ 
MurprErED Lover, THE ... 
Musicar, A ........ whtsles 


maTuRe AND ART ...:.... 
Necro Love Sone, A ..... 
mews, LHR ........'. rie ger 
eG) en ples oe ay 
Nicut, Dim NIGHT ....... 
NicHT oF Love ..... neice 
NoppIN’ BY DE FIRE ....... 
MN cel ek ele 


Not THry Wuo Soar .... 
UETTTING SONG ......0.0:- 


POCTORER ......- eee 
Ope FoR MEmorIAL Day .. 
[nn tO ETHIOPIA ......... 
Oxtp AppLE-TREE, THE .... 
DEPACABIN, LHE ....0...% 
Op Front GATE, THE ... 
Oxtp HomesTeaD, THE . 


PAGE 
252 


202 
103 
129 
180 
120 
140 
176 

17 

op 
201 
253 


283 


PAGE 
O.tp Memory, AN ........ 284 
PL bl UN BSc7 LH Big ais aes: 52 
COR AUC RAN BOOK sic oe sc 202 


On THE DEATH OF W.C... 284 
ON THE DEDICATION OF 


LIOROTH VA TLALL, 344 0 oe 45 214 
CONVPHE RIVER ig cae ee 285 
ON THE ROAD Ces ocr fee ins 142 
On THE SEA WALL ....... II5 
CONE ULARE Vg wold se ate pale 72, 
MIPPORTUNITY 2linie os aotelas 242 
OVER THE HIDES rive a go 
PARADOR TIES Saal ac ce ook 89 
PRE a ei, phy Wika wie 240 
A 28 4 0 pO Ne Pio Rate RI 1545 
PERT EP ELB rede t atn eaters 83 
PASSION AND LOVE ........ II 
PATHS TAB iy ies tee eek a Tee 
PHANTOM Kiss, THE...... 109 
PHILOSOPHY ie car uede es 219 
PHOTOGRAPH, THE ....... 144 
PHYLUISS ot) eo dita Le we have 74 
PLACE WHERE THE RAIN- 

Bow ENps, THE ........ 246 
PLANTATION CHILD’s LUL- 

LABY| 3) LHR Soe vata: 241 
PLANTATION Portrait, A .. 173 
PLANTATION MELopy, A... 193 
PEEASAI Slaw neni esaleey | 167 
Port AND His Sone, THE... 4 


PoET AND THE Basy, THE . 114 


[xv] 





INDEX OF TITLES 


PAGE 
POENULHE: CM cena ee MOL 
PoOE THE toe ees Seba OG 
Poor WITHERED ROSE ..... 286 
POSSESSION YOv sei eee 198 
POSSUME Wule Rinks bs A Ry anain hw Ip 
POSSUM “LBOT)s | Seine. PROV 8 
PRAYER MA ant Gein als VS 
PRECEDENT) 03 s/se ss oeie enue LOO 


PREFERENCE, WAC Sh, see aU 
PREMONITION Cy ss ibe welche ees 


PREPARATION, Weil cela va eh Om 
PROMETHEUS ..... Pura ins 117 
PROMISE Ours) ehecwvelaene & SUNN Ee 
PROTEST MWe one tases 133 


PUTTIN’ THE BABy AWAY .. 243 


OUIUTING LAE Wide te ened 
TRAIN-SONGSO ROW hie uw niionnd 270 
REAL QUESTION, THE ..... 135 
RRTIGION eee cists elontocn. Bala be: 
RETUICTANCE) shun lieis PEG Abas 
REMEMBERED ..... van I21 
RESIGNATION 6 sv hase pele 106 
RESPONSE ........ BE Ge 6s 


RETORT 2s OOO eae 


RETROSPECTION ...... SA he ena ieet 
RIDING TOM OWN sin ioe enon 70 
RIGHT TO\Dre; THE cae 94 
RIGHTS ‘SECURITY. (0) 2) 75 


RISING OF THE Storm, THE 8 
RIVALS, SUHBH ue eee ier 


RIVER OF RuIN, THE...... 
ROADWAY; As eee hes 
RoBERT GOULD SHAW ..... 
ROSES :... ) scene eee ey 
ROSES AND PEARLS ........ 
SAILOR’S SONG, A ...... Bp 
SAND-Man, THE ........ : 
SCAMP. 9) ae : Ri sts 
SECRET, Bi aes ty Pera iae 
SEEDLING, CHEVS eae : 
SHE GAVE Mea Rose ..... 


SHE ToLp Her Bzaps ..... 
SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE 
NIGHT 
SIGNS OF THE DIMES oo... 
SILENCE (+s eee toe are 
Stow THROUGH THE DarK 
SNOWIN’ |). 
SONG 


eoeoceeeeeeeee ee ee eee @ 


SONG, THE Algae Walks 
SONNET (.\0 J) Se 
SPARROW, “CHE? 4 eee ee 
SPEAKIN’ AT DE’ Cou’r- 
House 003 ae 
SPEAKIN’ 0’ CHRISTMAS .... 


SPELLIN’-BEE, THE 


[xvi] 


PAGE 


265 
214 
221 
221 
270 


92 
235 
239 

68 

12 
103 
106 


a eo iL, 





INDEX OF TITLES 


PAGE 

MENTAR TA fils 'e y's aie se © 194 
SPRING FEVER ............ 176 
MINIGIOONG - 0056 se is's 2 os 26 
SprING WooInc, A ....... 164 
Starry NicuT, A ........ 288 
SUMMER NicHT, A ....... 262 
Stirrup Cup, THE ....... 125 
SUMMER PasTorRAL, A ..... 279 
SUMMER’s NicHT, A ...... 64 
OS eae 114 
a 9 
a aa ae shes 258 
ee 102 
MRCP TATION. ..1..-.00.00 146 
THANKSGIVING Porm, A... 281 
THEN AND Now .......... 129 
LOGON ick os wee ces was 106 
TuHou Art My Lute ..... 109 
TILL THE WIND GETS 

TT, sg heen eens ve 262 
TIME TO TINKER ’Roun’! . 135 
To a Caprtious Critic .... 189 
To a Lapy PLAYING THE 

Meee cobs. ce. e, oie! as 116 
To A DEAD FRIEND ....... 216 
To A VioLet FounpD on ALL 

RIAN cs oy as 179 
SUDAN INGRATE ....... 0): 233 
IOAN Ok Scie nce ewe 248 
1S Ba ee 97 
RU ad ive. w thas sce ha wis 266 


PAGE 
BOTS lO aN id abana AE be aE 238 
PO LOUIS, wii ice So oe a 26 
EO EFRIMMEBR 107) diel G0 %,'« 277 
To THE EASTERN SHORE ... 202 


To THE Memory or Mary 


WOUNGEN fe sare cekiat 81 
DOL TELE (VIBAMD sales 8 cals 277 
ep TE IR OATY (fe Saucy a, 163 
OTHE SOUTH) oss eosiies 216 
‘TROUBLE IN DE KITCHEN .. 268 
RR VST Se Dae uu Ud NET, 166 
‘TURNING OF THE BABIES IN 

THE BED) (DHE) ay c's 170 
TWELL DE NicuT Is Pas’ .. 253 
PUWILIGEDE Lateiar tent eo Beira’ a 241 
‘Two Lrtrue Boors: ......’. 163 
PEXVOLOONGS is cues | aac 19 
UI NEXPRRSSIT RU) aig YU 25 
Un ucky Appz, THE .... 251 
Unsunc Herogs, THE .... 196 
VAGRANT S Fb Uni see 119 
ATSB) DEB cis aE ie R Eo, 175 
VENGEANCE Is SWEET ..... 98 
VETERAN) Uva ete) 256 
VoICE OF THE BANJo, THE. 124 
MASITOR SLB Urine urd wire diay Ly i 
WADIN’ IN DE CREEK ...... 239 
VWARTING siicteauiere We Atrial ds 100 


WarM Day In WINTER, A. 168 


[xvii | 





INDEX OF TITLES 


PAGE 
WE WEAR THE MASK ..... 71 
Warrior’s PRAYER, THE .. 123 
(WELTSCHMERTZ .......e0- 220 
W’rn I Gits HoME....... 195 
WHAT'S THEUSE 0 os ecnss 249 
WHEN A FELLER’s ITCHIN’ 

TO BE:GPANKED .)¢.s\s0 35's 264 
WHEN ALL Is Done ...... 113 


WHEN DE Co’n Pone’s Hor 57 
WHEN Dey ’ListTep CoL- 


DRED SOLDIERS |) ia. osie tes 182 
WHEN Matinpy SINGS.... 82 
WHEN SAM’L SINGS ......- 208 
WHEN THE OLtp Man 

SMOKES hres ties ns we eon OR 


WHEN WINTER DARKENING 
ALL AROUND 


PAGE 
Wuip-Poor-WILL AND 

Katy-Dip ine eee 186 
WHISTLING SAM=4:. ate 156 
WHITTIER .. vcs ence 18 
Wuy Fapes a DREAM?.... 77 
WIND AND THE SEA, THE .. 69 
WINTER-SONG ou scene 236 
WINTER’S APPROACH ...... 256 
WINTER’S Day, A ........ 120 
WitTH THE LARK .. 3s... .63 90 
WooInG; PHB ys. eres 55 
Worn Out io. beens 286 
WraitH,: THE Osa 186 
YESTERDAY AND To-Mor- 

ROW 5 ces soe sere ee 257 


[xviii] 


canton 





—_— 


INDEX OF FIRST LINES 


A bee that was searching for sweets one day ........ Birdy cide tts Wis 
A blue-bell springs upon the TEER aren at te Miche gic eee Ogle 26 
Seeeruetene down from the heavens ......:.......2cccceececs 288 
Bwcmistoor Dread and a corner to sleep in ...........c0cccccece 8 
Seema oyer all the teeming lists........... 0... cc ccc eee eees 6 
A knock is at her door, but she is weak ..............005- Wi tauie c 
A life was mine full of the close concern ..............ecceeee 103 
A a ae at eR ae 226 
Sere bird. with plumage brown ...<.........ceccceeeesees 78 
Semmererreannng by the Way .......6.c. es cco s be ccenes Sve eB 114 
A lover whom duty called over the wave ...........c0cceceees 29 
A maiden wept and,.as a comforter .........0.. 0c ccc eeeeeeees II 
Pavetatl Or LOW degree was sore oppressed ........2 00. e cee eees III 
A song for the unsung heroes who rose in the country’s need ..... 196 
ETE INCELO TIN oa ik laic ao 'd'e so il ob aes dis ecadeias nc 4 
memmriewent sarming up and down ....06.6.-ccceeesesecsas 55 
Across the hills and down the narrow ways ...........¢.eeee08 120 
merertetne west a Golden Plow. sce. ccc ccc eke eee eeweece 263 
Pnesmumines, we have fall’n on evil days ...2..0.5..cececeeses 208 
Peemienave changed, | do not know ........0. sec e ecw c ee eens 270 
mms dove, my tove is like a cry in the night .....:.......0..005: aoe 
RIPE ANG CHUL cb ile Wecldws ccc scecl'y ena gna eoaunse's 186 
Mmemoravimny iota; the light fades away). .....0..05 ce cee eae 62 
ummesnrtie sweet still to remember, .... 5.00 tees eee cede af 
Meeete Clapter ends to-day). ea eee ee eaes IOI 
Memmmoee MICS tO NAVE 2 MAMMY 65.262. e ec eee hens tes eisieees 239 
Ain’t nobody tol’ you not a wo'd a-tall ......... 0 cece eee eee 181 


[xix] 





INDEX OF FIRST LINES 


PAGE 
Air 2-gittin’ cool an’ coolah )6020) 05.0.0 a a 77 
All de night long twell de moon goes down ................-. 253 
All hot,and grimy from the:toad | /4))00. 2.9 2. Vl ee 224 
Along by the! river of rum) ni eee tela eke eee 265 
An angel robed in spotless. white (2.0/9.0). 2 2. en ee 65 
An old man planted and dug and tended); ))220.i), oe 60 
An‘ old; worn ‘harp that had been played 2.2...) eae 17 
As ‘a quiet little’ seedling: <0).00.. 0) SU 12 
As in some dim baronial hall restrained ..........0s050-s eeu es 94 
As lone\I sat one summer’s day»). ...54/.)05 \e oe eee 122 
As some rapt gazer on the lowly earth .\.... 022 aw ee 106 
Ashes: to ashes, dust. unto dust) ....0.0.50 0%. 21, Wiel eee 103 
At'the golden gate of song ..)0s.00).) oh an 179 
Aye, lay him in his grave, the old dead year! ...........-...0:. 105 
Back to the breast of thy mother. ....00). 2.) ie 
Because. [had loved so deeply 2.0.0.0. ie dss Ne 256 
Because you love me I have much achieved:..............0..5 0. 238 
Bedtime’s come fu’ little boys 20.7) 0/0.\0 20). eae 144 
Belated wanderer of the ways of spring |. .),././s). oases 179 
Beyond the years the answer. lies...) 5.) Joleen ee 4I 
Bird of\my lady's bower \.)0/0.'5.0)6:8 Shes C4 3 0 loll ee 19 
Bones a-gittin’ achy ..)c)0(s)sje8 2/6 oleic eiele's «0 oly ee gaan 153 
Break me (my bounds, and let me/fly). 0). 2... ee 285 
Breezes blowin’ middlin’) brisk)\.\. )::..'. .:.... sss) © eee 78 
Bring me the livery of no other(man ...0\0..... J) ee 92 
By ‘Mystic’s banks I held my. dream)... .\. ) 0. 204. 
By rugged ways and thro’ the night (000.0... 0 215 
By the pool that I see in my dreams, dear love ...........seaee 198 


By the stream I dream in calm delight, and watch as ina glass ... 50 


Caught Susanner whistlin’; well)... 1... 0. sks wee ee ee alee 149 


TE 





INDEX OF FIRST LINES - 


PAGE 
Pay ty UTeAMITY TOWN 6.0 s al lee elbelsc cece evedovews 254 
emeeratine a stirrup cup with me. 5... ee eee cee 125 
Sara ved SPTICUTIY MCASUTE cise ss ce sid beh phic es delaieed ees 97 
Come on walkin’ wid me, Lucy; ’t ain’t no time to mope erroun’ ... 164 
Come to the pane, Meee CUPCERT ATIALC 0.1. Duclos sei eieiy ood Sule dies 120 
Come when the nights are bright with stars ...............000. 61 
ool 1s the wind, for the summer is waning ...........0..0.006 163 
vermin Over with daisies white . 66... 00 elec wee ene 258 
Daih’s a moughty soothin’ feelin’ .............. EPS ie evga eign Daye 
pratung, my darling, my heart is on the wing ..............006 202 
EE Srl WAAL  e ee  ee oe ea 239 
De axes has been ringin’ in de woods de blessid day ............. 143 
De! breeze is blowin’ ‘cross de bay .......... 0.00605 Ua Meer eatery 145 
ipe cession s stahted on de gospel way, .... 0c. cc ccc cec cen ces Papery’ 
Mere HONIT  CCy: AllUS SAV), 66... elo e cece e cide cede eves ce’ 165 
RPO W it VON CE TOA... su. cw elie ces seecweaeeueecs 247 
Semen creep down criong de lan’... ells cc cased eee eles 166 
muon times pone, de new time’s hyeah 2.20. ke ee ee ee 192 
Meeumniesnine an de win’ hit. blow ....0. 0.000000. ee as. 256 
De times is mighty stirrin’ mong de people up ouah way ......... 158 
Ee CTI? If) GE SCO Il)... ssc ees cs elles cade wees andes 193 
Seeman tines come, hit seems to me)... . 2. ee eee 225 
Sree IWIN WANMAN foe. ois se cbs ciee secs els tale co uele welds’ 236 
De win’ is hollahin’ “ Daih you ” to de shuttahs an’ de fiah ...... 174 
Dear critic, who my lightness so deplores .......... 00.000 0c0e 189 
REO OOG TONE Toll ik a elsgladisa year bd ebiewaclabd Uelads 23 
Dear Miss Lucy: I been t’inkin’ dat I’d write you long fo’ dis .... 151 
Deep in my heart that aches with the repression ............... 25 
Dey been speakin’ at de cou’t-house ..............00ce cee eeeee 205 
Dey had a gread big pahty down to Tom’s de othah night ....... 83 
Remerenow niyo the meddahs oo... 0. ss le che eb eles ees a e's 168 





INDEX OF FIRST LINES 


PAGE 
Dey is times in life when Nature ......... 00.1.0 5 01s eu ee 57 
Dey was oncet a awful quoil ’twixt de skillet an’ de pot ......... 268 
Dey was talkin’ in de cabin, dey was talkin’ in de hall .......... 182 
Dey’s a so’t o’ threatenin’ feelin’ in de blowin’ of de breeze ....... 171 
Dinah stan’ befo’ de glass 20.00.00. 05. 00 wes 2 a 206 
Dis is gospel weathah sho’— .. 602.0200. 025 26 
Do’ a-stan’in’ on a jar, fiah a-shinin’ thoo*. 2... 9. eee 196 
Dolly sits a-quilting by her mother, stitch by stitch ............. 240 
Done are the toils and the wearisome marches .............++-: 22 
Dream days of fond delight and hours... .. 5... [ope gee ee 287 
Dream on, for dreams are sweet ......'.)0/0 ++ > ss te 100 
Driftwood ‘gathered here and there ........).)). . se 277 
Duck come switchin’ ‘cross de lot). J... .. +05 ss 0s sleet 275 
Ef dey’s anyt'ing dat riles me... . 0.5... .s 4-0 «e'¢ se sn eee I4I 
Ef you’s only got de powah fe’ to blow a little whistle ........... 250 
Eight of em hyeah all tol’ an’ yet .... 2... Gh. sss ee 243 
Emblem of blasted hope and lost desire ..........0cc0eecceeeee 115 
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes .............--- 3 


Folks ain’t got no right to censuah othah folks about dey habits... 5 


Folks is talkin’ bout de money, "bout de silvah an’ de gold ...... 135 
Four hundred years ago a tangled waste .......) su aeaee 47 
Fw’ de peace o’ my eachin’ heels, set down ........0.0-c++-e00- 222 
God has his plans, and what if we ..... OP A 81 
* Good-bye,”’ I said to my conscience). 5...5... 1. eee 31 
Goo’-by, Jinks, I got to hump «2.5.0... 65... «0 ole tae 64 
Good hunting! — aye, good hunting ...............00+e0eeees 237 
Good-night, my love, for I have dreamed of thee .............. 93 
Granny's gone a-visitin’ 2. ..044%s/e ese cee > >< +) sie 242 
Grass Commence a-Comin’ : sisi). sleleie eas +s « o/ley omen 176 


INDEX OF FIRST LINES 


PAGE 
eta es OF. FECOTd fo i asco o Vkn ccs vine weeeeehecvs 205 
Bermyrie tie palace where she dwells. .............00eecccvcees 180 
G’way an’ quit dat noise, Miss Lucy ........... PVN nwo ty 82 
Hain’t you see my Mandy Lou DEO a So ph ad's CU cigt et ore iece 173 
eemenatenie dream, and all through life 2.2... 5.6... 000% eave wes 61 
feeetoved ner, and through many years...........0ccncs ec ee eee 129 
Semeenterar fire SCTehely Sweet)... ce yc ce cee een lee ee scene IQI 
He scribbles some in prose and verse, .............06: Sar iee ras 49 
Muemeremiy heart, the day is chill)... 0. cs ce cece ese ec es 207 
Heart of the Southland, heed me pleading HOW ciate sas Ree 216 
MEMOS EMI ATi L0G) 6... s a'y vine + Vio -ctlewna esc dwpiaweacces 170 
Seeromore man. youre a-gittin’ gray os. eal ees baw cee e ws 80 
feice geen dtizziin an’ been sprinklin’ ..........0... ccc een ee 180 
MUI SOONG. (0 STAY og hs eke cea ve bbe ccs cee cewek 259 
How shall I woo thee to win thee, mine own? .........0...200- 289 
SUERTE TNE TNUSIC SOUNCEd ., .6)c0.c cde s cies elev edacessuens 284 

_How’s a man to write a sonnet, can you tell ....,...........06. 114 
Hurt was the nation with a mighty wound ..................5. 184 
SELENE al 1a 1c a na eC 145 
MemMiat SIQCIN it) CE MEETS . 565i ce cle ev ees eeeen ee 208 
Mmeemput clay, .the sinner plead .... 063 0.00e secede tees ecans I14 
Beereemyrtiest Of Crooks NOr crecdS).... 0... wccdatec aces dsoses 38 
LICE Y YIE BUTTOWS. . ss bias cc's a clsis ip epic alsiscaw aiv wejcle'e es 89 
PTET: EOLG IG CNTUCE S05. ci a's a ccc c os ualv Sees cea aule cus 42 
I been t’inkin’ ’bout de preachah; whut he said de othah night .... 212 
media not know that life could be so sweet ....4.. 0600.00 ec nes 252 
I done got ’uligion, honey, an’ I’s happy ez a king .............. 146 
PPLE VEIT) TISCCTICT ACS bogs ou ides ¥n 649 WR wwe le suka sate ¥ ohas 140 
I grew a rose once more to please mine eyes ........-.eeeeeeeee 1% 
BeteerLatrOce WItitl @ Marden {210 .. . 2s. w/e hs eee sdele seve see dia Raa te 


[xxiii] 





INDEX OF FIRST LINES 


PAGE 
I ‘had: not: known before ou bee ead a 240 
I has hyeahd o’ people dancin’ an’ I’s hyeahd o’ people singin’ .... 156 
I have no fancy for that-ancient’ cant? .\.. 00'S. oe 94 
I have seen full:many a sight): 2.0... lca > les eet ale 188 
I held my heart so far from ‘harm >.) .).). 3: O20. 2 eee 255 
I:found you and 1 lost you. ).5 60.0. 0.2 ee |e 251 
TEN Sala) (ache unk: Mee pot CRD DERM CRE AED Ad ae a aA ae nS 235 
I know my love is true i600. jcc wie ps ace gale 58 
I know what the caged bird feels, alas! .. . ...)... SQ eee 102 
I never shall furgit that night when father hitched up Dobbin .... 42 
I sit upon the. old. sea wall . 2.6.25. 0.5 0. 115 
I stand ‘above the city’s rush and din’. \... 1.2.4 2a 275 
I stood by the shore at. the death of day... 0.4. 30 ee 69 
I think that though the clouds be dark (2)... .1.. 53 
I was not; now I.am —a few days hence... .'.... 2s. ene 17 
If Death should claim me for her own to-day ..............00-. 210 
If life were but a dream, my Love... 2... )0s0)) Go 95 
If the muse were mine to. tempt it)... 0.00). 0c) Sa 50 
If thro’ the sea of night which here surrounds me ............-- 256 
Jf. ’twere fair to suPpOSe . ....66 se bled eajecuis ose Gis Cee 258 
If you could sit with me beside the sea to-day ........-...2+.+-0- 21 
In a small and lonely cabin out of noisy traffic’s way ............ 124 
In de dead of night I sometimes . 24)... 5 ee 260 
In Life’s Red Sea with faith I plant my feet .).... >. eee 110 
Inthe east the morning comes 0.0... 0. ey Was 199 
In the heavy earth the miner, (06.00. 3/0000 0)0 1 107 
In the forenoon’s restful quiet.) .5 4.0). wel cee e 95 
In the silence of my heart...) (00.2 00005 04.2) 5 IIO 
In this ‘sombre garden close... 0256405 .454 5 0 sn 
Im the’ tents of Akbar ).(. 00 fe ii uea's dee ale saan 223 
In ‘this old) garden; fair, I walk to-day i005). © os) ae ee 111 
I’s a-gittin’ weary of de way dat people do ........cccecccccce » 244 


[ xxiv | 


INDEX OF FIRST LINES 


PAGE 
Mmmmnntrceriny cal to-night)! (eis deer dela ade sels HS We hed 
I’s feelin’ kin’ 0’ lonesome in my little room to-night ............ 202 
MEE SEU GEG CMOLC is ec RO aL alia Wide woe es deme S's 216 
MeemImeTiCery NOt tO Siig at all. ofl) e weleds vee dienes eae 225 
It was Chrismus Eve, I mind hit fu’ a mighty gloomy day ....... 137 
Muersiua tarce,—— these tales they tell ....... 0.0000. c cece cee es 56 
Memerentn-day.-. ine bees is DUZZIN’ «i. eo ile ee wa a 279 
Mermmmnpe ey tiansome Lavin TOU). . bei. icin cen cde cw cicle w sleieels 195 
ITE INOCTON ye leis ie lk iew oe lL Mees 46 
Sermneterre meen a Talthiul Mary cscs os os ds cals vals che ch caine 267 
re ri tO them IAWYVCTS 6.6 ee eis Sc ba alee ae be 22 
Mepeeeemnmatenin OF eM, Parson |... ssc oe siole als wc a le\ele cela 'e 39 
I’ve journeyed ’roun’ consid’able, a-seein’ men an’ things ......... 147 
MUM WANING VOU thOO so ic'ses ces es ces cee dean dace 148 
Meee mieieta pit, it the day be dark 2)... ie eee eee ba bu ele 98 
ROS ATUL EAE Pole gaya tee ole wie ee Wodiw aidue lel aielalaiale 201 
Seeeemerm tian, tou most Constant one! 2... be ee 277 
Meeevous winds that blow your course ... 2... ....0.5000ccuee VAG 
Lay me down beneaf de willers in de grass ..........0 ccc eeeees 142 
memmeentiy, word, and slow’. 2...) 0. bee eel RVR eg 40 BA 98 
Meumenciorse tie eyes Of my'soul . 3.0) oe 261 
Let those who will stride on their barren roads ................ 214 
Semammetgies i ibiess de Lawd tore ed ees 190 
Lake sea-washed sand upon the shore... ).....6.0. cece eal gie eee 202 
MMe MISH Upon the TOSE his). dee Peak ae hie 282 
Bererrow nn Dapy wit spa klin’ Cyes (./6. 6 ged alec a ties oles alsin ats 134 
Derer oro cace’ full Of smiles i sss ae bide a Vip hic ein leele 267 
ENEMIES TLEY (iu iat eects tury Vs ahs) del'S ow hig Ki stolel dieialaca el g wore d 177 
Long had I grieved at what I deemed abuse ..............00008 106 
Long since, in sore distress, I heard one pray ...........e.000. + 128 


[xxv] 





INDEX OF FIRST LINES 


PAGE 
Long time ago, we too set out ..-. 2)... 000+). sans eee 
Long years ago, within a distant clime)...!.'.... j¢ee ene 104 
Love hath the wings'of the butterfly: 20...) 2) a 117 
Love is the light of the world, my dear .0.0)7. 15 Perec 
Love me. I care not ‘what the circling years ... , sips) eee 89g 
Love uséd to carry a bow, you know 2:2... ... cs 258 
Lucy done gone back on me .......2.. 0... ues) oun 136 
Mammy’s in de kitchen, an’ de do’ is shet ......... 0 eseueeneneenees 241 
Mastah drink'his ol’ Made’a .....'.. «1s 0s eee 213 
Men may sing of their Havanas, elevating to the stars .......... 129 
Mother’s gone a-visitin’ to spend a month er two ...........+0-. 79 
My cot was down by a cypress grove ..... «04... ss 8 
My heart to thy heart »............¢ 5's «steel enn 13 
My lady love lives far away ........1:....0 55 0 288 
My muvver’s ist the nicest one «0... .. «++» «tse ae 247 
My neighbor lives on the hill . 2... .2....5.% . seen eee 192 
My ‘soul, lost in the music’s mist .:..... s+ 0 4+ oun eee 76 
Night, dim night, and it rains, my love, it rains .......vee. eee 227 
Night is for'sorrow and dawn is for joy... \..)) eee 90 
Not oer thy dust let there be spent . 2). ....) yee 18 
No matter what you call its... 04/0. 5.04 4 o ate ena 287 
Not they who soar, but they who plod wiv ae vicie e's et enn nena 18 
Not to the midnight of the. gloomy past’. ..\.. J...) eee sae 
Ol lambiout:in'decolsseeiautw oes cb sse e 4 eee ns es 
O Lord, the hard-won miles ..... MA II 
O Mother Race! to thee I bring ............ |. 15 
October is the treasurer of the year .......... Ss): 63 
Oh, de'clouds is mighty heavy \.)./, 0's ..s./. sc + ote ee 169 
Oh, de grubbin’-hoe’s a-rustin’ in de co’nah ............+...4-. 67 
Oh, de weathah it is balmy an’ de breeze is sighin’ low ......... 207 


[xxvi ] 


INDEX OF FIRST LINES 


PAGE 
Summetnres tote © keer an trouble (i... 0). as cee see ee ees 20 
Semeeetne breath of the briny deep .. 2.) .2.0. Soc. eke cae ees 92 
Mummemmnrnre tO death ny LOVE ...... 06. cee ee swe wees 72 
Oh, I des received a letter f’om de sweetest little gal ..... aie. 266 
Oh, I haven’t got long to live, for we all ............0cceeeees 48 
Bermenmer nas clothed the earth .......55.0-.cccaceuesveces OI 
umemmenreezeris blowin balmy 2. ...¢6.0.05 08s cucsscneccaes 262 
Matera fas Set Mie Gleaming ... 6.6.20 sec e ove cca seceacas 107 
Oh, the little bird is rocking in the cradle of the wind .......... 245 
Oh, the poets may sing of their Lady Irenes ..............0000: 26 
ROTO WIR, si ew sc aw eke scabs we sages 166 
Oh, what shall I do? I am MPLA p UIDSE Te ek ru Gals ele els lee tare y 31 
Pereenoe tie Lord of the land of life... 0... ee ce ee ee es 268 
Oh, who would be sad tho’ the sky be a-graying ............--- 236 
Oh, wind of the spring-time, oh, free wind of May ............. 221 
Seeemvenminers day as | sat by a’stream . 6.2... ec ee cw ss 248 
Meee WETANGA WICC 5 wc. bake ecw cin ta cence ewer eaes 59 
Gmcerbove crew bold and atrogant of air ........c. sce ce se ee ne 102 
One night in my room, still and beamless ............0200e0 ee: 109 
Our good knight, Ted, girds his broadsword on .............-2- 108 
Meee miniit:d sad Dird MOANS ...... cece eee ee eevbebiacs 194 
Out in the sky the great dark clouds are INASSINY Hote Meee wien s tial 64 
Sianemimy neart, one day, | wrote a song ........06eece ec esces 117 
Out of my heart, one treach’rous winter’s day ..........---e00- 102 
Out of the sunshine and out of the heat ...............2.. AOR cay: 
Seutsine the tain upon the strect ....:..cc0cc.ccceowne By eS rahet 253 
Over the hills and the valleys of dreaming ............cceeeeee go 
Seeman, Fnyllis, my life is a pray, day ...6 6 selves ee ee es ce 74 
Ree PUNE) OF MHIGNONELE | 5:4; 5/5 ves sei & salelelwles dog’ 4/s dine bie ed 66 
Piariwithered rose, SNE GAVE It ME <j)... 6. elec cs eesie secu neice ene 286 
eearliat ease dreains avail oc icedicc cs cs ccleleddvelGWace se cues 104 








ERE SLEEP COMES DOWN 
TO SOOTHE THE 
WEARY EYES 


Ere sleep comes down ‘to soothe 
the weary eyes, 
Which all the day with cease- 
less care have sought 
The magic gold which from the 
seeker flies; 
Ere dreams put on the gown 
and cap of thought, 
And make the waking world a 
world of lies,— 
Of lies most palpable, uncouth, 
forlorn, 
That say life’s full of aches and 
tears and sighs,— 
Oh, how with more than dreams 
the soul is torn, 
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the 
weary eyes. 


Ere sleep comes down to soothe the 
weary eyes, 
How all the griefs and heart- 
aches we have known 
Come up like pois’nous vapors that 
arise 
From some base witch’s caldron, 
when the crone, 
To work some potent spell, her 
magic plies. 
The past which held its share of 
bitter pain, 


Whose ghost we prayed that Time 
might exorcise, 
Comes up, is lived and suffered 
o'er again, 
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the 
weary eyes. 


Ere sleep comes down to soothe the 
weary eyes, 
What phantoms fill the dimly 
lighted room; 
What ghostly shades in awe-creat- 
ing guise 
Are bodied forth within the 
teeming gloom. 
What echoes faint of sad and soul- 
sick cries, 
And pangs of vague inexplicable 
pain 
That pay the spirit’s ceaseless en- 
terprise, 
Come thronging through the 
chambers of the brain, 
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the 
Weary eyes. 


Ere sleep comes down to soothe the 
weary eyes, 
Where ranges forth the spirit 
far and free? 
Through what strange realms and 
unfamiliar skies 
Tends her far course to lands of 
mystery? 


Les 





THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


To lands unspeakable — beyond 
surmise, 
Where shapes unknowable to 
being spring, 
Till, faint of wing, the Fancy fails 
and dies 
Much wearied with the spirit’s 
journeying, 
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the 
Weary eyes. 


Ere sleep comes down to soothe the 
weary eyes, 
How questioneth the soul that 
other sou!,— 
The inner sense which neither 
cheats nor lies, 
But self exposes unto self, a 
scroll 
Full writ with all life’s acts un- 
wise or wise, 
In characters 
known; 
So, trembling with the shock of 
sad surprise, 
The soul doth view its awful 
self alone, 
Ere sleep comes down to soothe 
the weary eyes. 


* 


indelible and 


When sleep comes down to seal the 
weary eyes, 
The last dear sleep whose soft 
embrace is balm, 
And whom sad sorrow teaches us 
to prize 
For kissing all our passions into 
calm, 


Ah, then, no more we heed the sad 
world’s cries, 
Or seek to probe th’ eternal mys- 
tery, 
Or fret our souls at long-withheld 
replies, 
At glooms through which our 
visions cannot see, 
When sleep comes down to seal the 
weary eyes. 


THE POET AND HIS SONG 


A sonc is but a little thing, 
And yet what joy it is to sing! 
In hours of toil it gives me zest, 
And when at eve I long for rest; 
When cows come home along the 
bars, 
And in the fold I hear the bell, 
As Night, the shepherd, herds his 
stars, 
I sing my song, and all is well. 


There are no ears to hear my lays, 
No lips to lift a word of praise; 
But still, with faith unfaltering, 
I live and laugh and love and sing. 


What matters yon unheeding 
throng? 
They cannot feel my spirit’s 
spell, 


Since life is sweet and love is long, 
I sing my song, and all is well. 


My days are never days of ease; 
I till my ground and prune my 
trees. 


[4] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


When ripened gold is all the plain, 
I put my sickle to the grain. 
I labor hard, and toil and sweat, 
While others dream within the 
dell; 
But even while my brow is wet, 
I sing my song, and all is well. 


Sometimes the sun, unkindly hot, 
My garden makes a desert spot; 
Sometimes a blight upon the tree 
Takes all my fruit away from me; 
And then with throes of bitter pain 


Rebellious passions rise and 
swell; 

But — life is more than fruit or 
grain, 


And so I sing, and all is well. 


RETORT 


“'THou art a fool,” said my head 
to my heart, 
“ Indeed, the greatest of fools thou 
art, 
To be led astray by the trick of 
a tress, 
By a smiling face or a ribbon 
smart; ” 
And my heart was in sore dis- 
tress. 


Then Phyllis came by, and her face 
was fair, 
The light gleamed soft on her 
raven hair; 
And her lips were blooming a 
rosy red, 


Then my heart spoke out with a 
right bold air: 
“Thou art worse than a fool, O 
head! ” 


ACCOUNTABILITY 


FOLKS ain’t got no right to cen- 
suah othah folks about dey 
habits ; 

Him dat giv’ de squir’ls de bush- 
tails made de bobtails fu’ de 
rabbits. | 

Him dat built de gread big moun- 
tains hollered out de little 
valleys, 

Him dat made de streets an’ drive- 
Ways wasn’t shamed to make 
de alleys. 


We is all constructed diffent, 
d’ain’t no two of us de same; 

We cain’t he’p ouah likes an’ dis- 
likes, ef we’se bad we ain’t to 
blame. 

Ef we’se good, we need n’t show 
off, case you bet it ain’t ouah 
doin’ 

We gits into su’ttain channels dat 
we jes’ cain’t he’p pu’suin’. 

But we all fits into places dat no 
othah ones could fill, 

An’ we does the things we has to, 
big er little, good er ill. 
John cain’t tek de place o’ Henry, 
Su an’ Sally ain’t alike; 

Bass ain’t nuthin’ like a suckah, 
chub ain’t nuthin’ like a pike. 


[5] 








THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


When you come to think about it, 
how it’s all planned out it’s 
splendid. 

Nuthin’s done er evah happens, 
*dout hit ’s somefin’ dat’s in- 
tended ; 

Don’t keer whut you does, you has 
to, an’ hit sholy beats de 
dickens,— 

Viney, go put on de kittle, I got 
one o’ mastah’s chickens. 


FREDERICK DOUGLASS 


A HUSH is over all the teeming 
lists, 
And there is pause, a breath- 
space in the strife; 
A spirit brave has passed beyond 
the mists 
And vapors that obscure the sun 
of life. 
And Ethiopia, with bosom torn, 
Laments the passing of her no- 
blest born. 


She weeps for him a mother’s 
burning tears — 
She loved him with a mother’s 
deepest love. 
He was her champion thro’ direful 
years, 
And held her weal all other ends 
above. 
‘When Bondage held her bleeding 
in the dust, 


He raised her up and whispered, 
“‘ Hope and Trust.” 


For her his voice, a fearless clarion, 
rung 
That broke in warning on the 
ears of men; 
For her the strong bow of his 
power he strung, 
And sent his arrows to the very 
den 
Where grim Oppression held his 
bloody place 
And gloated o’er the mis’ries of a 
race. 


And he was no soft-tongued apolo- 
gist ; 
He spoke straightforward, fear- 
lessly uncowed ; 
The sunlight of his truth dispelled 
the mist, 
And set in bold relief each dark 
hued cloud; 
To sin and crime he gave their 
proper hue, 
And hurled at evil what was evil’s 
due. 


Through good and ill report he 
cleaved his way 
Right onward, with his face set 
toward the heights, 
Nor feared to face the foeman’s 
dread array,— 
The lash of scorn, the sting of 
petty spites, 


[ 6 ] 


Sa 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


He dared the lightning in the 
- lightning’s track, 
And answered thunder with his 
thunder back. 


When men maligned him, and 
their torrent wrath 
In furious imprecations o’er him 
broke, 
He kept his counsel as he kept his 
path; 
”T was for his race, not for him- 
self he spoke. 
He knew the import of his Mas- 
ter’s call, 
And felt himself too mighty to be 
small. 


No miser in the good he held was 
he,— 
His kindness followed his hori- 
zon’s rim. 
His heart, his talents, and his 
hands were free 
To all who truly needed aught 


of him. 

iWhere poverty and _ ignorance 
were rife, 

He gave his bounty as he gave his 
life. 


The place and cause that first 
aroused his might 
Still proved its power until his 
latest day. 
In Freedom’s lists and for the aid 
of Right 


Still in the foremost rank he 
waged the fray; 
Wrong lived; his occupation was 
not gone. 
He died in action with his armor 
on! 


We weep for him, but we have 
touched his hand, 
And felt the magic of his pres- 
ence nigh, 
The current that he sent through- 
out the land, 
The kindling spirit of his battle- 
cry. 
O’er all that holds us we shall tri- 
umph yet, 
And place our banner where his 
hopes were set! 


Oh, Douglass, thou hast passed 
beyond the shore, 
But still thy voice is ringing o’er 
the gale! 
Thou ’st taught thy race how high 
her hopes may soar, 
And bade her seek the heights, 
nor faint, nor fail. 
She will not fail, she heeds thy 
stirring cry, 
She knows thy guardian spirit will 
be nigh, 
And, rising from beneath the 
chast’ning rad, 
She stretches out her bleeding 
hands to God! 


bead 





THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


LIFE 


A crust of bread and a corner to 
sleep in, ig 

A minute to smile and an hour t 
weep in, 

A pint of joy to a peck of trouble, 

And never a laugh but the moans 


come double; 
And that is life! 


A crust and a corner that love 
makes precious, 

With a smile to warm and the 
tears to refresh us; 

And joy seems sweeter when cares 
come after, 

And a moan is the finest of foils 
for laughter; 

And that is life! 


THE LESSON 


My cot was down by a cypress 
grove, 
And I sat by my window the 
whole night long, 
And heard well up from the deep 
dark wood 
A mocking-bird’s 


song. 


passionate 


And I thought of myself so sad 
and lone, 
And my life’s cold winter that 
knew no spring; 
Of my mind so weary and sick and 
wild, 
Of my heart too sad to sing. 


But e’en as I listened the mock- 
bird’s song, 
A thought stole into my sad- 
dened heart, 
And I said, “I can cheer some 
other soul 
By a carol’s simple art.” 


For oft from the darkness of 
hearts and lives 
Come songs that brim with joy 


and light, 
As out of the gloom of the cypress 
grove 
The mocking-bird sings at 
night. 


So I sang a lay for a brother’s ear 
In a strain to soothe his bleed- 
ing heart, 
And he smiled at the sound of my 
voice and lyre, 
Though mine was a feeble art. 


But at his smile I smiled in turn, 
And into my soul there came 
a ray: 
In trying to soothe another’s woes 
Mine own had passed away. 


THE RISING OF THE 
STORM 


Tue lake’s dark breast 
Is all unrest, 
It heaves with a sob and a sigh. 
Like a tremulous bird, 
From its slumber stirred, 
The moon is a-tilt in the sky. 


AREA 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


From the silent deep 
The waters sweep, 
But faint on the cold white stones, 
And the wavelets fly 
With a plaintive cry 
- O’er the old earth’s bare, bleak 


bones. 


And the spray upsprings 
On its ghost-white wings, 
And tosses a kiss at the stars; 
While a water-sprite, ) 
In sea-pearls dight, 
Hums a sea-hymn’s solemn bars. 


Far out in the night, 
On the wavering sight 
I see a dark hull loom; 
And its light on high, 
Like a Cyclops’ eye, 
Shines out through the mist and 
gloom. | 


Now the winds well up 
From the earth’s deep cup, 
And fall on the sea and shore, 
And against the pier 
The waters rear 
And break with a sullen roar. 


Up comes the gale, 
And the mist-wrought veil 
Gives way to the lightning’s glare, 
And the cloud-drifts fall, 
A sombre pall, 
O’er water, earth, and air. 


The storm-king flies, 
His whip he plies, 
And bellows down the wind. 
The lightning rash 
With blinding flash 


Comes pricking on behind. 


Rise, waters, rise, 
And taunt the skies 

With your swift-flitting form. 
Sweep, wild winds, sweep, 
And tear the deep 


To atoms in the storm. 


And the waters leapt, 
And the wild winds swept, 
And blew out the moon in the sky, 
And I laughed with glee, 
It was joy to me 
As the storm went raging by! 


SUNSET 


THE river sleeps beneath the sky, 

And clasps the shadows to its 

breast ; 
The crescent moon shines dim on 
high; 

And in the lately radiant west 
The gold is fading into gray. 
Now stills the lark his festive 

lay, 
And mourns with me the 
dying day. 


While in the south the first faint 
star 
Lifts to the night its silver face, 


ae el 





THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


And twinkles to the moon afar 
Across the heaven’s graying 
space, 
Low murmurs reach me from the 
town, 
As Day puts on her sombre crown, 
And shakes her mantle darkly 


down. 


THE OLD APPLE-TREE 


THERE’s a memory keeps a-run- 
nin’ 
Through my weary head to- 
night, 
An’ I see a picture dancin’ 
In the fire-flames’ ruddy light; 
’Tis the picture of an orchard 
Wrapped in autumn’s purple 
_ haze, 
With the tender light about it 
That I loved in other days. 
An’ a-standin’ in a corner 
Once again I seem to see 
The verdant leaves an’ branches 
Of an old apple-tree. 


You perhaps would call it ugly, 
An’ I don’t know but it’s so, 
When you look the tree all over 

Unadorned by memory’s glow; 
For its boughs are gnarled an’ 
crooked, 
An’ its leaves are gettin’ thin, 
An’ the apples of its bearin’ 
Would n’t fill so large a bin 


As they used to. But I tell you, 
When it comes to pleasin’ me, 

It’s the dearest in the orchard,— 
Is that old apple-tree. 


I would hide within its shelter, 
Settlin’ in some cosy nook, 
Where no calls nor threats could 
stir me 
From the pages o’ my book. 
Oh, that quiet, sweet seclusion 
In its fulness passeth words! 
It was deeper than the deepest 
That my sanctum now affords. 
Why, the jaybirds an’ the robins, 
They was hand in glove with 
me, 
As they winked at me an’ warbled 
In that old apple-tree. 


It was on its sturdy branches 
‘That in summers long ago 

I would tie my swing an’ dangle 
In contentment to an’ fro, 

Idly dreamin’ childish fancies, 
Buildin’ castles in the air, 

Makin’ o’ myself a hero 
Of romances rich an’ rare. 

I kin shet my eyes an’ see it 
Jest as plain as plain kin be, 

That same old swing a-danglin’ 
To the old apple-tree. 


There’s a rustic seat beneath it 
That I never kin forget. 
It’s the place where me an’ 
Hallie — 
Little sweetheart—used to set, 


[ 10 ] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR : 


When we ’d wander to the orchard 
So’s no listenin’ ones could hear 


As I whispered sugared nonsense | 


Into her little willin’ ear. 
Now my gray old wife is Hallie, 
An’ I’m grayer still than she, 
But Ill not forget our courtin’ 

"Neath the old apple-tree. 


Life for us ain’t all been summer, 
But I guess we ’ve had our share 

Of its flittin’ joys an’ pleasures, 
An’ a sprinklin’ of its care. 

Oft the skies have smiled upon us; 


Then again we’ve seen ’em 
frown, 
Though our load was ne’er so 
heavy 
That we longed to lay it down. 
But when death does come 
a-callin’, 


This my last request shall be,— 
That they ll bury me an’ Hallie 
"Neath the old apple tree. 


A PRAYER 


O Lorp, the hard-won miles 
Have worn my stumbling feet: 

Oh, soothe me with thy smiles, 
And make my life complete. 


The thorns were thick and keen 
Where’er I trembling trod; 
The way was long between 
My wounded feet and God. 


Where healing waters flow 
Do thou my footsteps lead. 
My heart is aching so; 
Thy gracious balm I need. 


PASSION AND LOVE 


A MAIDEN wept and, as a com- 
forter, 

Came one who cried, “I love 
thee,’ and he seized 

Her in his arms and kissed her 
with hot breath, 

That dried the tears upon her 
flaming cheeks. 

While evermore his boldly blaz- 
ing eye 

Burned into hers; but she uncom- 
forted 

Shrank from his arms and only 
wept the more. 


Then one came and gazed mutely 
in her face 

With wide and wistful eyes; but 
still aloof 

He held himself; as with a rev- 
erent fear, 

As one who knows some sacred 
presence nigh. 

And as she wept he mingled tear 
with tear, 

That cheered her soul like dew a 
dusty flower,— 

Until she smiled, approached, and 
touched his hand! 


fir] 








THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


THE SEEDLING 


As a quiet little seedling 

Lay within its darksome bed, 
To itself it fell a-talking, 

And this is what it said: 


“T am not so very robust, 
But I'll do the best I can;” 
And the that 
moment 
Its work of life began. 


seedling from 


So it pushed a little leaflet 
Up into the light of day, 
‘To examine the surroundings 
And show the rest the way. 


The leaflet liked the prospect, 
So it called its brother, Stem; 
Then two other leaflets heard it, 
And quickly followed them. 


To be sure, the haste and hurry 
Made the seedling sweat and 
pant; 
But almost before it knew it 
It found itself a plant. 


The sunshine poured upon it, 
And the clouds they gave a 
shower} 
And the little plant kept growing 
Till it found itself a flower. 


Little folks, be like the seedling, 
Always do the best you can; 
Every child must share _life’s 

labor 


Just as well as every man. 


And the sun and showers will 
| heip you 
Through the lonesome, strug- 
gling hours, 
Till you raise to light and beauty 
Virtue’s fair, unfading flowers. 


PROMISE 


I GREW a rose within a garden 
fair, 

And, tending it with more than 
loving care, 

I thought how, with the glory of 
its bloom, 

I should the darkness of my life 
illume; | 
And, watching, ever smiled to see 

the lusty bud 
Drink freely in the summer sun to 
tinct its blood. 


My rose began to open, and its 
hue 

Was sweet to me as to it sun and 
dew; 

I watched it taking on its ruddy 
flame 

Until the day of perfect blooming 
came, 

Then hasted I with smiles to find 
it blushing red— 

Too late! Some thoughtless child 
had plucked my rose and fled! 


[ 12 | 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


FULFILMENT. 


I GREW a rose once more to please 
mine eyes. | 

All things to aid it — dew, sun, 
wind, fair skies — 

Were kindly; and to shield it 
from despoil, 

I fenced it safely in with grateful 
toil. 
No other hand than mine shall 
pluck this flower, said I, 
And I was jealous of the bee that 
hovered nigh. 

It grew for days; I stood hour 
after hour 

To watch the slow unfolding of 
the flower, 

And then I did not leave its side 
at all, 

Lest some mischance my flower 
should befall. 

At last, oh joy! the central petals 
burst apart. 

It blossomed—but, alas! a worm 
was at its heart! 


SONG 


My heart to thy heart, 
My hand to thine; 
My lip to thy lips, 
Kisses are wine 
Brewed for the lover in sunshine 
and shade; 
Let me drink deep, 
African maid. 


then, my 


Lily to lily, 
Rose unto rose; 
My love to thy love 
Tenderly grows. 
Rend not the oak and the ivy in 
twain, 
Nor the swart maid from her 
swarthier swain. 


AN ANTE-BELLUM SER- 
MON 


We is’ gathahed _hyeah, 
brothahs, 
In dis howlin’ wildaness, 
Fu’ to speak some words of com- 
fo’t 
To each othah in distress. 
An’ we chooses fu’ ouah subjic’ 
Dis—we’ll ’splain it by an’ 
by; 
“ An’ de Lawd said, ‘ Moses, 
Moses,’ 
An’ de man said, ‘ Hyeah am 


bps 


my 


Now ole Pher’oh, down in Egypt, 
Was de wuss man evah bo’n, 

An’ he had de Hebrew chillun 
Down dah wukin’ in his co’n; 

”T well de Lawd got tiahed o’ his 


foolin’, 
An’ sez he: “Ill let him 
know — 
Look hyeah, Moses, go tell 
Pher’oh 


Fu’ to let dem chillun: go.” 


[ 13 | 





THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


“ An’ ef he refuse to do it, 
I will make him rue de houah, 
Fu’ I’ll empty down on Egypt 
All de vials of my powah.” 
Yes, he did — an’ Pher’oh’s ahmy 
Was n’t wuth a haf a dime; 
Fu’ de Lawd will he’p his chillun, 


You kin trust him evah time. 


An’ yo’ enemies may ’sail you 
In de back an’ in de front; 
But de Lawd is all aroun’ you, 
Fu’ to ba’ de battle’s brunt. 
Dey kin fo’ge yo’ chains an’ 
shackles 
_ F’om de mountains to de sea; 
But de Lawd will sen’ some 
Moses 


Fw’ to set his chillun free. 


An’ de lan’ shall hyeah his thun- 
dah, 
Lak a blas’ f’om Gab’el’s ho’n, 
Fu’ de Lawd of hosts is mighty 
When he girds his ahmor on. 
But fu’ feah some one mistakes 
me, 
I will pause right hyeah to say, 
Dat I’m still a-preachin’ ancient, 
I ain’t talkin’ ’bout to-day. 


But I tell you, fellah christuns, 


Things ’Il happen mighty 
strange ; 

Now, de Lawd done dis fu’ Isrul, 

An’ his ways don’t nevah 
change, 


An’ de love he showed to Isrul 
Was n’t all on Isrul spent; 
Now don’t run an’ tell yo’ mas- 
tahs 
Dat I’s preachin’ discontent. 


‘Cause I isn’t; I’se a-judgin’ 
Bible people by deir ac’s; 

I’se a-givin’ you de Scriptuah, 
I’se a-handin’ you de fac’s. 
Cose ole Pher’oh b’lieved in 

slav’ry, 
But de Lawd he let him see, 
Dat de people he put bref in,— 
Evah mothah’s son was free. 


An’ dahs_ othahs thinks lak 
Pher’oh, 
But dey calls de Scriptuah lar, 
Fu’ de Bible says “ a servant 
Is a-worthy of his hire.” 
An’ you cain’t git roun’ nor thoo 
dat, 
An’ you cain’t git ovah it, 
Fu’ whatevah place you git in, 


Dis hyeah Bible too ’Il fit. 


So you see de Lawd’s intention, 
Evah sence de worl’ began, 
Was dat His almighty freedom 
Should belong to evah man, 
But I think it would be bettah, 
Ef I’d pause agin to say, 
Dat I’m talkin’ *bout ouah free- 
dom 
In a Bibleistic way. 


But de Moses is a-comin’, 
An’ he’s comin’, suah and fas’ 


[ 14 ] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


We kin hyeah his feet a-trompin’, 
We kin hyeah his trumpit blas’. 
But I want to wa’n you people, 
Don’t you git too brigity; 
An’ don’t you git to braggin’ 
"Bout dese things, you wait an’ 
see. 


But when Moses wif his powah 
Comes an’ sets us chillun free, 

We will praise de gracious Mastah 
Dat has gin us liberty; 

An’ we’ll shout ouah halleluyahs, 
On dat mighty reck’nin’ day, 
[When we’se reco’nised ez citiz’— 

Huh uh! Chillun, let us pray! 


ODE TO ETHIOPIA 


O Mortuer Race! to thee I 
bring 
This pledge of faith unwavering, 
This tribute to thy glory. 
I know the pangs which thou 
didst feel, 
When Slavery crushed thee with 
its heel, 
With thy dear blood all gory. 


Sad days were those—dah, sad 
indeed! 
But through the land the fruitful 
seed 
Of better times was growing. 
The plant of freedom upward 
sprung, 


And spread its leaves so fresh and 
young — 
Its blossoms now are blowing. 


On every hand in this fair land, 
Proud Ethiope’s swarthy children 
stand 
Beside their fairer neighbor; 
The forests flee before their stroke, 
Their hammers ring, their forges 
smoke,— 
They stir in honest labour. 


They tread the fields where 
honour calls; 
Their voices sound through sen- 
ate halls 
In majesty and power. 
To right they cling; the hymns 
they sing 
Up to the skies in beauty ring, 
And bolder grow each hour. 


Be proud, my Race, in mind and 
soul ; 
Thy name is writ on Glory’s scroll 
In characters of fire. 
High ’mid the clouds of Fame’s 


bright sky 
Thy banner’s blazoned folds now 
fly, 
And truth shall lift them 
higher. 


Thou hast the right to noble pride, 

Whose spotless robes were purified 
By blood’s severe baptism. 

Upon thy brow the cross was laid, 


[15] 





THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


And labour’s painful sweat-beads 
made 
A consecrating chrism. 


No other race, or white or black, 
When bound as thou wert, to the 
rack, 


So seldom stooped to grieving; 
No other race, when free again, 


Forgot the past and proved them 
men 
So noble in forgiving. 
Go on and up! Our souls and 
eyes 
Shall follow thy continuous rise; 
Our ears shall list thy story 
From bards who from thy root 
shall spring, 
And proudly tune their lyres to 
sing 
Of Ethiopia’s glory. 


THE CORN-STALK FIDDLE 


WHEN the corn’s all cut and the 
bright stalks shine 
Like the burnished spears of a 
field of gold; 
When the field-mice rich on the 
nubbins dine, 
And the frost comes white and 
the wind blows cold; 
Then it’s heigho! fellows and hi- 
diddle-diddle, 
For the time is ripe for the corn- 


stalk fiddle. 


And you take a stalk that is 
straight and long, : 
With an expert eye to its 
worthy points, 
And you think of the bubbling 
strains of song 
That are bound between its 
pithy joints — 
Then you cut out strings, with a 
bridge in the middle, 
With a corn-stalk bow for a corn- 
stalk fiddle. 


Then the strains that grow as you 
draw the bow 
O’er the yielding strings with 
a practised hand! 
And the music’s flow never loud 


but low 
Is the concert note of a fairy 
band. 
Oh, your dainty songs are a misty 
riddle 


To the simple sweets of the corn- 


stalk fiddle. 


When the eve comes on, and our 
work is done, 
And the sun drops down with a 
tender glance, 
With their hearts all prime for 
the harmless fun, 
Come the neighbor girls for 
the evening’s dance, 
And they wait for the well- 
known twist and_ twid- 
dle — 


[ 16] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


More time than tune — from the 
corn-stalk fiddle. 


Then brother Jabez takes the bow, 
While Ned stands off with Su- 
san Bland, 
Then Henry stops by Milly Snow, 
And John takes Nellie Jones’s 
hand, 
While I pair off with Mandy 
Biddle, 
And scrape, scrape, scrape goes 
the corn-stalk fiddle. 


“Salute your partners,” comes the 
call, 

“All join hands 
round,” 
“Grand train back,” and ‘“ Bal- 

ance all,” 
Footsteps lightly 
ground. 
“"Take your lady and_ balance 
down the middle ” 
To the merry strains of the corn- 
stalk fiddle. 


and circle 


spurn the 


So the night goes on and the dance 
is o’er, 
And the merry girls are home- 
ward gone, 
But I see it all in my sleep once 
more, 
And I dream till the very break 
of dawn 
Of an impish dance on a red-hot 
griddle 


To the screech and scrape of a 
corn-stalk fiddle. 


THE MASTER-PLAYER 


AN old, worn harp that had been 
played 

Till all its strings were loose and 
frayed, 

Joy, Hate, and Fear, each one 
essayed, 

To play. But each in turn had 
found | 

No sweet responsiveness of sound. 


Then Love the Master-Player 
came 

With heaving breast and eyes 
aflame; 


The Harp he took all undismayed, 

Smote on its strings, still strange 
to song, 

And brought forth music sweet 
and strong. 


THE MYSTERY 


I was not; now I am—a few 
days hence 

I shall not be; I fain would look 
before 

And after, but can neither do; 
some Power 

Or lack of power says “ no”’ to all 
I would. 

I stand upon a wide and sunless 
plain, 


[17] 








THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Nor chart nor steel to guide my 
steps aright. 
Whene’er, o’ercoming fear, I dare 


to move, 

I grope without direction and by 
chance. 

Some feign to hear a voice and 
feel a hand 


That draws them ever upward 
thro’ the gloom. 

But I —I hear no voice and touch 
no hand, 

Tho’ oft thro’ silence infinite I 
list, 

And strain my hearing to supernal 
sounds; 

Tho’ oft thro’ fateful darkness do 
I reach, 

And stretch my hand to find that 
other hand. 

I question of th’ eternal bending 
skies 

That seem to neighbor with the 
novice earth; 

But they roll on, and daily shut 


their eyes 

On me, as I one day shall do on 
them, 

And tell me not the secret that I 
ask. 


NOT THEY WHO SOAR 


Nor they who soar, but they who 
plod 

Their rugged way, unhelped, to 
God 


Are heroes; they who higher fare, 

And, flying, fan the upper air, 

Miss all the toil that hugs the sod. 

*Tis they whose backs have felt 
the rod, 

Whose feet have pressed the path 
unshod, 

May smile upon defeated care, 

Not they who soar. 


High up there are no thorns to 
prod, 
Nor boulders lurking ’neath the 
clod 
To turn the keenness of the share, 
For flight is ever free and rare; 
But heroes they the soil who’ve 
trod, 
Not they who soar! 


WHITTIER 


Not o’er thy dust let there be — 
spent 

The gush of maudlin sentiment; 

Such drift as that is not for thee, 

Whose life and deeds and songs 
agree, 

Sublime in their simplicity. 


Nor shall the sorrowing tear be 
shed. 

O singer sweet, thou art not 
dead! 

In spite of time’s malignant chill, 

With living fire thy songs shall 
thrill, 


[ 18] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


And men shall say, “ He liveth 
still! ” 


Great poets never die, for Earth 

Doth count their lives of too great 
- worth 

To lose them from her treasured 
store ; 

So shalt thou live for evermore — 

Though far thy form from mortal 

woken — * 

Deep in the hearts and minds of 

men. 


TWO SONGS 


A BEE that was searching for 
sweets one day 

Through the gate of a rose garden 
happened to stray. 

In the heart of a rose he hid away, 

And forgot in his bliss the light of 
day, 


As sipping his honey he buzzed in 


song; 
Though day was waning, he lin- 
gered long, 
For the rose was sweet, so 
sweet. 


A robin sits pluming his ruddy 
breast, 

And a madrigal sings to his love 
in her nest: 

“Oh, the skies they are blue, the 
fields are green, 

And the birds in your nest will 
soon be seen!” 


She hangs on his words with a 
thrill of love, 

And chirps to him as he sits above 

For the song is sweet, so sweet. 


A maiden was out on a summer’s 
day 

With the winds and the waves 
and the flowers at play; 

And she met with a youth of 
gentle air, 

With the light of the sunshine on 
his hair. 

‘Together they wandered the flow- 
ers among; 

They loved, and loving they lin- 
gered long, 

For to love is sweet, so sweet. 





Birp of my lady’s bower, 
Sing her a song; 

Tell her that every hour, 
All the day long, 

Thoughts of her come to me, 
Filling my brain 

With the warm ecstasy 
Of love’s refrain. 


Little bird! happy bird! 
Being so near, 

Where e’en her slightest word 
Thou mayest hear, 

Seeing her glancing eyes, 
Sheen of her hair, 

Thou art in paradise,— 
Would I were there. 


[19 ] 





THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


I am so far away, 
Thou art so near; 

Plead with her, birdling gay, 

Plead with my dear. 

Rich be thy recompense, 
Fine be thy fee, 

If through thine eloquence 
She hearken me. 


A BANJO SONG 


Ou, dere’s lots o’ keer an’ trouble 
In dis world to swaller down; 
An’ ol’ Sorrer’s purty lively 
In her way 0’ gittin’ roun’. 
Yet dere’s times when I furgit 
em,— 
Aches an’ pains an’ troubles 
all,— 
An’ it’s when I tek at ebenin’ 
My ol’ banjo f’om de wall. 


"Bout de time dat night is fallin’ 
_ An’ my daily wu’k is done, 
An’ above de shady hilltops 
I kin see de settin’ sun; 
When de quiet, restful shadders 
Is beginnin’ jes’ to fall,— 
Den I take de little banjo 
F’om its place upon de wall. 


Den my fam’ly gadders roun’ me 
In de fadin’ o’ de light, 

Ez I strike de strings to try ’em 
Ef dey all is tuned er-right. 
An’ it seems we’re so nigh heaben 
We kin hyeah de angels sing 


When de music 0’ dat banjo 
Sets my cabin all er-ring. 


An’ my wife an’ all de othahs,— 
Male an’ female, small an’ 
big,— 
Even up to gray-haired granny, 
Seem jes’ boun’ to do a jig; 
’*T well I change de style o’ music, 
Change de movement an’ de 
time, | 
An’ de ringin’ little banjo 
Plays an ol’ hea’t-feelin’ hime. 


An’ somehow my th’oat gits choky, 
An’ a lump keeps tryin’ to rise 
Lak it wan’ed to ketch de water 
Dat was flowin’ to my eyes; 
An’ I feel dat I could sorter 
Knock de socks clean off o’ sin 
Ez I hyeah my po’ ol’ granny 
Wit huh tremblin’ voice jine in. 


Den we all th’ow in our voices 
Fu’ to he’p de chune out too, 

Lak a big camp-meetin’ choiry 
Tryin’ to sing a mou’nah th’oo. 

An’ our th’oahts let out de music, 
Sweet an’ solemn, loud an’ free, 

*T well de raftahs o’ my cabin 
Echo wif de melody. 


Oh, de music o’ de banjo, 
Quick an’ deb’lish, 
slow, 
Is de greates’ joy an’ solace 
Dat a weary slave kin know! 


solemn, 


[ 20 ] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


So jes’ let me hyeah it ringin’, 
Dough de chune be po’ an 
rough, 
It’s a pleasure; an’ de pleasures 
O’ dis life is few enough. 


7 


Now, de blessed little angels 
Up in heaben, we are told, 
Don’t do nothin’ all dere lifetime 
’Ceptin’ play on ha’ps o’ gold. 
Now I think heaben’d be mo’ 
homelike 
Ef we’d hyeah some music fall 
F’om a real ol’-fashioned banjo, 
Like dat one upon de wall. 


LONGING 


IF you could sit with me beside 
the sea to-day, 

And whisper with me_ sweetest 
dreamings o’er and o'er; 

I think I should not find the 
clouds so dim and gray, 

And not so loud the waves com- 
plaining at the shore. 


If you could sit with me upon the 
shore to-day, 

And hold my hand in yours as in 
the days of old, 

I think I should not mind the chill 
baptismal spray, 

Nor find my hand and heart and 
all the world so cold. 


If you could walk with me upon 
the strand to-day, 


And tell me that my longing love 
had won your own, 

I think all my sad thoughts would 
then be put away, 

And I could give back laughter 
for the Ocean’s moan! 


THE PATH 


THERE are no beaten paths to 
Glory’s height, 

There are no rules to compass 
greatness known; 

Each for himself must cleave a 
path alone, 

And press his own way forward 
in the fight. 

Smooth is the way to ease and 
calm delight, 

And soft the road Sloth chooseth 
for her own; 

But he who craves the flower of 
life full-blown, 

Must struggle up in all his armor 
dight! 

What though the burden bear him 
sorely down 

And crush to dust the mountain 
of his pride, | 

Oh, then, with strong heart let 
him still abide; 

For rugged is the roadway to 
renown, 

Nor may he hope to gain the en- 
vied crown, 

Till he hath thrust the looming 
rocks aside. 


[ 21 ] 





THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


THE LAWYERS’ WAYS 


I ’vE been list’nin’ to them lawyers 
In the court house up the street, 

An’ I’ve come to the conclusion 
‘That I’m most completely beat. 

Fust one feller riz to argy, | 
An’ he boldly waded in 

As he dressed the tremblin’ pris’ner 
In a coat o’ deep-dyed sin. 


Why, he painted him all over 
In a hue o’ blackest crime, 
An’ he smeared his reputation 
With the thickest kind o’ 
grime, 
Tell I found myself a-wond’rin’, 
In a misty way and dim, 


How the Lord had come to fashion . 


Sich an awful man as him. 


Then the other lawyer started, 

An’ with brimmin’, tearful 
eyes, 

Said his client was a martyr 
That was brought to sacrifice. 

An’ he give to that same pris’ner 
Every blessed human grace, 

Tell I saw the light o’ virtue 
Fairly shinin’ from his face. 


Then I own ’at I was puzzled 
How sich things could rightly 
be; 

An’ this aggervatin’ question 
Seems to keep a-puzzlin’ me. 
So, will some one please inform 

me, 
An’ this mystery unroll — 


How an angel an’ a devil 
Can persess the self-same soul? 


ODE FOR MEMORIAL DAY, 


Dons are the toils and the weari- 
some marches, 
Done is the summons of bugle 


and drum. 
Softly and sweetly the sky over- 


arches, 
Shelt’ring a land where Rebel- 
lion is dumb. 
Dark were the days of the coun- 
try’s derangement, 
Sad were the hours when the 
conflict was on, 
But through the gloom of frater- 
nal estrangement 
God sent his light, and we wel- 
come the dawn. 
O’er the expanse of our mighty 
dominions, 
Sweeping away to the uttermost 
parts, 
Peace, the wide-flying, on untiring 
pinions, 
Bringeth her message of joy to 
our hearts. 


Ah, but this joy which our minds 
cannot measure, 
What did it cost for our fathers 
to gain! 
Bought at the price of the heart’s 
dearest treasure, 
Born out of travail and sorrow 
and pain; 


[ 22 ] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Born in the battle where fleet 
Death was flying, 
Slaying with sabre-stroke bloody 
and fell; 
Born where the heroes and mar- 
_tyrs were dying, 
Torn by the fury of bullet and 
shell. 
Ah, but the day is past: silent the 
rattle, 
And the confusion that followed 
_ the fight. 
Peace to the heroes who died in 
the battle, 
Martyrs to truth and the crown- 
ing of Right! 


Out of the blood of a conflict fra- 
ternal, 
Out of the dust and the dimness 
of death, 
Burst into blossoms of glory eter- 
nal 
Flowers that sweeten the world 
with their breath. 
Flowers of charity, peace, and 
devotion 
Bloom in the hearts that are 
empty of strife; 
Love that is boundless and broad 
as the ocean 
Leaps into beauty and fulness 
of life. 
So, with the singing of paans and 
chorals, 
And with the flag flashing high 


in the sun, 


Place on the graves of our heroes 
the laurels 
Which their unfaltering valor 
has won! 


PREMONITION 


Dear heart, good-night! 
Nay, list awhile that sweet voice 
singing 
When the world is all so bright, 
And the sound of song sets the 
heart a-ringing, 
Oh, love, it is not right — 
Not then to say, “ Good- 
night.” 


Dear heart, good-night! 
The late winds in the lake weeds 
shiver, , 
And the spray flies cold and 
white. 
And the voice that sings gives a 
telltale quiver — 
“Ah, yes, the world is bright, 
But, dearest heart, good- 
night! ” 


Dear heart, good-night! 
And do not longer seek to hold 
me! 
For my soul is in affright 
As the fearful glooms in their 
pall enfold me. 
See him who sang how white 
And still; so, dear, good- 
night. 


[ 23 ] 





THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Dear heart, good-night! 
Thy hand Ill press no more for- 
ever, 
And mine eyes shall lose the 
light ; 
For the great white wraith by the 
Winding river 


Shall check my steps with 
might. 
So, dear, good-night, good- 
night! 
RETROSPECTION 
WHEN you and I were young, the 
days 
Were filled with scent of pink 
and rose, 
And full of joy from dawn till 
close, 
From morning’s mist till evening’s 
haze. 
And when the robin sung his 
song 
The verdant woodland ways 
along, 
We whistled louder than he 
sung. 
And school was joy, and work was 
sport 
For which the hours were all too 
short, 
When you and I were young, 
my boy, 


When you and I were young. 


When you and I were young, the 
woods 
Brimmed bravely o’er with every 
joy 
To charm the happy-hearted 
boy. 
The quail turned out her timid, 
broods; 
The prickly copse, a_ hostess 
fine, nee 
Held high black cups of harm- 
less wine; 
And low the laden grape-vine 
swung } 
With beads of night-kissed ame- 
thyst 
Where buzzing lovers held their 
tryst, 
When you and I were young, 
, my boy, 
When you and I were young. 


When you and I were young, the 
cool 
And fresh wind fanned our 
fevered brows 
When tumbling o’er the scented 
mows, 
stripping by 
pool, 
Sedge-fringed about its shim- 
mering face, 
Save where we’d worn an en- 
t’ring place. 
How with our shouts the 
calm banks rung! 


Or the dimpling 


[ 24 ] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


How flashed the spray as we 
plunged in,— 
Pure gems that never caused a 
sin! 
When you and I were young, 
my boy, 
When you and I were young. 


‘When you and I were young, we 


heard 

All sounds of Nature with de- 
light,— 

The whirr of wing in sudden 
flight, 


The chirping of the baby-bird. 


The columbine’s red bells were 


rung; 

The locust’s vested chorus 
sung; 

While every wind his zithern 
strung 


To high and holy-sounding keys, 

And played sonatas in the trees — 

When you and I were young, 
my boy, 

When you and I were young. 


When you and I were young, we 
knew 
To shout and laugh, to work 
and play, 
And night was partner to the 
day 
In all our joys. So swift time 
flew | 
On silent wings that, ere we 
wist, 


The fleeting years had fled un- 
missed ; 
And from our hearts this cry 
was wrung — 
To fill with fond regret and tears 
The days of our remaining years — 
“When you and I were young, 
my boy, 
‘When you and I were young.” 


UNEXPRESSED 


DEEP in my heart that aches with 
the repression, 
And strives with plenitude of 
bitter pain, 

There lives a thought that clamors 
for expression, 
spends its 
force in vain. 


And 


undelivered 


What boots it that some other 
may have thought it? 
The right of thoughts’ expres- 
sion is divine; 
The price of pain I pay for it has 
bought it, 
I care not who lays claim to it 
—'t is mine! 


And yet not mine until it be deliv- 
ered; 
The manner of its birth shall 
prove the test. 
Alas, alas, my rock of pride is 
shivered — 
I beat my brow — the thought 
still unexpressed. 


[ 25 ] 





THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


SONG OF SUMMER 


Dis is gospel weathah sho’— 
Hills is sawt o’ hazy. 

Meddahs level ez a flo’ 
Callin’ to de lazy. 

Sky all white wif streaks o’ blue, 
Sunshine softly gleamin’, 

D’ain’t no wuk hit ’s right to do, 
Nothin’ ’s right but dreamin’. 


Dreamin’ by de rivah side 
Wif de watahs glist’nin’, 
Feelin’ good an’ satisfied 
Ez you lay a-list’nin’ 
‘To the little nakid boys 
Splashin’ in de watah, 
Hollerin’ fu’ to spress deir joys 
Jes’ lak youngsters ought to. 


Squir’l a-tippin’ on his toes, 
So’s to hide an’ view you; 
Whole flocks o’ camp-meetin’ 
crows 
Shoutin’ hallelujah. 
Peckahwood erpon de tree 
Tappin’ lak a hammah; 
Jaybird chattin’ wif a bee, 
Tryin’ to teach him grammah. 


Breeze is blowin’ wif perfume, 
Jes’ enough to tease you; 

Hollyhocks is all in bloom, 
Smellin’ fu’ to please you. 

Go ’way, folks, an’ let me ’lone, 
Times is gettin’ dearah— 

Summah’s settin’ on de th’one, 


An’ I’m a-layin’ neah huh! 


SPRING SONG 


A BLUE-BELL springs upon the 
ledge, 
A lark sits singing in the hedge; 
Sweet perfumes scent the balmy 
alr 
And life is brimming everywhere. 
What lark and breeze and blue- 
bird sing, 
Is Spring, Spring, Spring! 


No more the air is sharp and cold; 

The planter wends across the wold, 

And, glad, beneath the shining 
sky 

‘We wander forth, my love and I. 

And ever in our hearts doth ring 

This song of Spring, Spring! 


For life is life and love is love, 
*Twixt maid and man or dove and 


dove. 

Life may be short, life may be 
long, 

But love will come, and to its 
song 


Shall this refrain for ever cling 
Of Spring, Spring, Spring! 


TO LOUISE 


Ou, the poets may sing of their 
Lady Irenes, 

And may rave in their rhymes 
about wonderful queens; 
But I throw my poetical wings to 

the breeze, 


[ 26 ] 








PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


And soar in a song to my Lady 
Louise. | 

A sweet little maid, who is dearer, 
I ween, 

Than any fair duchess, or even a 
queen. 

When speaking of her I can’t plod 
in my prose, 

For she’s the wee lassie who gave 
me a rose. 


Since poets, from seeing a lady’s 
lip curled, 

Have written fair verse that has 
sweetened the world; 

Why, then, should not I give the 
space of an hour 

To making a song in return for a 
flower? 

I have found in my life —it has 
not been so long — 

There are too few of flowers — too 
little of song. 3 

So out of that blossom, this lay of 
mine grows, 

For the dear little lady who gave 
me the rose. 


I thank God for innocence, dearer 
than Art, 

That lights on a by-way which 
leads to the heart, 

And led by an impulse no less 
than divine, 


Walks into the temple and sits at — 


the shrine. 
I would rather pluck daisies that 
grow in the wild, 


Or take one simple rose from the 
hand of a child, 

Then to breathe the rich fragrance 
of flowers that bide 

In the gardens of luxury, passion, 
and pride. 


I know not, my wee one, how 
came you to know 


Which way to my heart was the 
right way to go; 

Unless in your purity, soul-clean 
and clear, 

God whispers his messages into 
your ear. 

You have now had my song, let 
me end with a prayer 

That your life may be always 
sweet, happy, and fair; 

That your joys may be many, and 
absent your woes, 

O dear little lady who gave me 
the rose! 


THE RIVALS 


"T was three an’ thirty year ago, 

When I was ruther young, you 
know, 

I had my last an’ only fight 

About a gal one summer night. 

*T was me an’ Zekel Johnson; 
Zeke 

’N’ me’d be’n spattin’ *bout a 
week, 

Each of us tryin’ his best to show 

That he was Liza Jones’s beau. 


[27 ] 





THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


We couldn’t neither prove the 
thing, 

Fur she was fur too sharp to fling 

One over fur the other one 

An’ by so doin’ stop the fun 

That we chaps didn’t have the 
sense 

To see she got at our expense, 

But that ’s the way a feller does, 

Fur boys is fools an’ allus was. 

An’ when they’s females in the 
game 

I reckon men’s about the same. 

Well, Zeke an’ me went on that 


way 
An’ fussed an’ quarrelled day by 
day ; 
While Liza, mindin’ not the 
fuss, 


Jest kep’ a-goin’ with both of us, 

Tell we pore chaps, that’s Zeke 
an’ me, 

Was jest plum mad with jeal- 
ousy. 

Well, fur a time we kep’ our 
places, 

An’ only showed by frownin’ 
faces 

An’ looks ’at well our meanin’ 


boded 


How full o’ fight we both was 
loaded. 

At last it come, the thing broke 
out, 


An’ this is how it come about. 
One night (’t was fair, you'll all 
agree) | 


I got Eliza’s company, 
An’ leavin’ Zekel in the lurch, 
Went trottin’ off with her to 
church. 
An’ jest as we had took our seat 
(Eliza lookin’ fair an’ sweet), 
Why, I jest could n’t help but grin 
When Zekel come a-bouncin’ in 
As furious as the law allows. 
He’d jest be’n up to Liza’s house, 
To find her gone, then come to 


church 

To have this end put to his 
search. 

I guess I laffed that meetin’ 
through, 


An’ not a mortal word I knew 


Of what the preacher preached er 
read 

Er what the choir sung er said. 

Fur every time I’d turn my head 

I could n’t skeercely help but see 

"At Zekel had his eye on me. 

An’ he ’ud sort o’ turn an’ twist 

An’ grind his teeth an’ shake his 
fist. 

I laughed, fur la! the hull church 


seen us, 

An’ knowed that suthin’ was be- 
tween us. 

Well, meetin’ out, we_ started 
hum, 


I sorter feelin’ what would come. 

We’d jest got out, when up 
stepped Zeke, 

An’ said, ‘‘ Scuse me, I’d like to 


speak 


[ 28 ] 





A ee ae, > - 
ete ye OO a 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


To you a minute.” “Cert,” said 
I — | 

A-nudgin’ Liza on the sly 

An’ laughin’ in my sleeve with 
glee, 

I asked her, please, to pardon me. 

We walked away a step er two, 

Jest to git out o’ Liza’s view, 

An’ then Zeke said, “I want to 
know 

Ef you think you ’re Eliza’s beau, 

An’ ’at I’m goin’ to let her go 

Hum with sich a chap as you?” 

An’ I said bold, ‘‘ You bet I do.” 

Then Zekel, sneerin’, said ’at he 

Did n’t want to hender me. 

But then he ‘lowed the gal was 
his 

An’ ’at he guessed he knowed his 
biz, 

An’ wasn’t feared o’ all my kin 


With all my friends an’ chums 
throwed in. 

Some other things he mentioned 
there 

That no born man could no ways 
bear 


Er think o’ ca’mly tryin’ to stan’ 

Ef Zeke had be’n the bigges’ man 

In town, an’ not the leanest runt 

"At time an’ labor ever stunt. 

An’ so I let my fist go “ bim,” 

I thought I’d mos’ nigh finished 
him. 

But Zekel did n’t take it so. 

He jest ducked down an’ dodged 
my blow 


An’ then come back at me so hard, 

I guess J must ’a’ hurt the yard, 

Er spilet the grass plot where I 
fell, . 

An’ sakes alive it hurt me; well, 

It would n’t be’n so bad, you see, 

But he jest kep’ a-hittin’ me. 


An’ I hit back an’ kicked an’ 
pawed, 

But ’t seemed ’t was mostly air I 
clawed, 


While Zekel used his science well 

A-makin’ every motion tell. 

He punched an’ hit, why, good- 
ness lands, 

Seemed like he had a dozen hands. 

Well, afterwhile they stopped the 
fuss, 

An’ some one kindly parted us. 

All beat an’ cuffed an’ clawed an’ 

scratched, 

needin’ 

patched, 

Each started hum a different way; 

An’ what o’ Liza, do you say, 

Why, Liza—little humbug — 
dern her, 

Why, she’d gone home with 
Hiram Turner. 


An’ both faces 


our 


THE LOVER AND THE 


MOON 
A LOVER whom duty called over 
the wave, 
With himself §communed: 


“Will my love be true 


[ 29] 





THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


If left to herself? Had I bet- 
ter not sue 
Some friend to watch over her, 
good and grave? 
But my friend might fail in my 
need,” he said, 
“And I return to find love 
dead. 
Since friendships fade like the 
flow’rs of June, 
I will leave her in charge of the 
stable moon.” 


‘Then he said to the moon: ‘“O 
dear old moon, 
Who for years and years from 
thy thrown above 
Hast nurtured and _ guarded 
young lovers and love, 
My heart has but come to its 
waiting June, 
And the promise time of the 
budding vine; 
Oh, guard thee well this love 
of mine.” 
And he harked him then while 
all was still, 
And the pale moon answered 
and said, “I will.” 


And he sailed in his ship o’er 
many seas, 
And he wandered wide o’er 
strange far strands: 
In isles of the south and in Ori- 
ent lands, 
Where pestilence lurks in the 
breath of the breeze. 


But his star was high, so he 
braved the main, 

And sailed him blithely home 
again; 

And with joy he bended his 
footsteps soon 

To learn of his love from the 
matron moon. 


She sat as of yore, in her olden 
place, 
Serene as death, in her silver 
chair. 
A white rose gleamed in her 
whiter hair, 
And the tint of a blush was on 
her face. 
At sight of the youth she sadly 
bowed 
And hid her face ’neath a gra- 
cious cloud. 
She faltered faint on the night’s 
dim marge, 
But ‘“ How,” spoke the youth, 
“have you kept your 
charge?” 


The moon was sad at a trust ill- 
kept; 
The blush went out in her 
blanching cheek, 
And her voice was timid and 
low and weak, 
As she made her plea and sighed 
and wept. 
“Oh, another prayed and an- 
other plead, 


[ 30 ] 


a — 
Se eee a —- ee Se 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


And I couldn’t resist,” she 
answering said; 

“But love still grows in the 
hearts of men: 

Go forth, dear youth, and love 


again.” 


But he turned him away from her 
proffered grace. 
“Thou art false, O moon, as 
the hearts of men, 
I will not, will not love again.” 
And he turned sheer ’round with 
a soul-sick face 
To the sea, and cried: 
curse the moon, 

Who makes her vows and for- 
gets so soon.” 

And the awful sea with anger 
stirred, 

And his breast heaved hard as 
he lay and heard. 


* Sea, 


And ever the moon wept down in 
rain, 
And ever her sighs rose high in 
wind; 
But the earth and sea were deaf 
and blind, 
And she wept and sighed her 
griefs in vain. 
And ever at night, when the 
storm is fierce, 
The cries of a wraith through 
the thunder pierce; 
And the waves strain their aw- 


ful hands on high 


To tear the false moon from the 
sky. 


CONSCIENCE AND RE- 
MORSE 


“Goop-BYE,” I said to my con- 
science — 
“Good-bye for aye and aye,” 
And I put her hands off harshly, 
And turned my face away; 
And conscience smitten sorely 
Returned not from that day. 


But a time came when my spirit 
Grew weary of its pace; 
And I cried: ‘‘ Come back, my 
conscience ; 
I long to see thy face.” 
But conscience cried: “‘ I cannot; 
Remorse sits in my place.” 


IONE 
I 
AH, yes, ’t is sweet still to remem- 
ber, 
Though ’t were less painful to 
forget ; 
For while my heart glows like an 
ember, 
Mine eyes with sorrow’s drops 
are wet, 
And, oh, my heart is aching 
yet. 


It is a law of mortal pain 


[31] 





THE COMPLETE POEMS OF. 


That old wounds, 
counted well, 
Beneath the memory’s potent 
spell, 
Will wake to life and bleed again. 


long ac- 


So ’tis with me; it might be bet- 


ter 

If I should turn no look be- 
hind,— 

If I could curb my heart, and fet- 

ter , 

From reminiscent gaze my 
mind, 

Or let my soul go blind — go 
blind! 


But would I do it if I could? 
Nay! ease at such a price were 
spurned ; 
For, since my love was once re- 
turned, | 
All that I suffer seemeth good. 


I know, I know it is the fashion, 
When love has left some heart 


distressed, 
To weight the air with wordful 
passion ; 
But I am glad that in my 
breast 


I ever held so dear a guest. 
Love does not come at every nod, 
Or every voice that calleth 
“hasten 3” 
He seeketh out some heart to 
chasten, 
And whips it, wailing, up to God! 


Love is no random road wayfarer 
Who where he may must sip his 
glass. 
Love is the King, the Purple- 
Wearer, 
Whose guard recks not of tree 
or grass 
To blaze the way that he may 
pass. | 
What if my heart be in the blast 
That heralds his triumphant 
way; 
Shall I repine, shall I not say: 
“Rejoice, my heart, the King has 
passed! ” 


In life, each heart holds some sad 
story —— 
The saddest ones are never told. 
I, too, have dreamed of fame and 
glory, 
And viewed the future bright 
with gold; 
But that is as a tale long told. 
Mine eyes have lost their youthful 
flash, 
My cunning hand has lost its 
art; 
I am not old, but in my heart 
The ember lies beneath the ash. 


I loved! Why not? My heart 
was youthful, 
mind was filled with 
healthy thought. 
He doubts not whose own self is 
truthful, 


My 


[ 32 ] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Doubt by dishonesty is taught; 
So loved I boldly, fearing 
naught. 
I did not walk this lowly earth; 
Mine was a_ newer, higher 
sphere, | 
Where youth was long and life 
was dear, 
And all save love was little worth. 


Her likeness! Would 


might limn it, 


that I 


As Love did, with enduring 
are; 
Nor dust of days nor death may 
dim it, 
Where it lies graven on my 
heart, 
Of this sad fabric of my life a 
part. 
I would that I might paint her 
now 


As I beheld her in that day, 
Ere her first bloom had passed 
away, 
And left the lines upon her brow. 


A face serene that, beaming 
brightly, 
Disarmed the hot sun’s glances 
bold. 
A foot that kissed the ground so 
lightly, 
He frowned in wrath and 


deemed her cold, 
But loved her still though he 
was old. 


A form where every maideh grace 
Bloomed to perfection’s richest 
flower,— 
The statued pose of conscious 
power, 
Like lithe-limbed Dian’s of the 


chase. 


Beneath a brow too fair for frown- 


ing, 

Like moon-lit deeps that glass 
the skies 

Till all the hosts above seem 

drowning, 

Looked forth her steadfast ha- 
zel eyes, 

With gaze serene and purely 
wise. 


And over all, her tresses rare, 
Which, when, with his desire 
grown weak, 
The Night bent down to kiss 
. her cheek, 
Entrapped and held him captive 
there. 


This was Ione; a spirit finer 
Ne’er burned to ash its house 
of clay; 
A soul instinct with fire diviner 
Ne’er fled athwart the face of 
day, 
And tempted Time with earthly 
stay. 
Her loveliness was not alone 
Of face and form and tresses’ 
hue; 


baad 





THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


For aye a pure, high soul shone 
through 
Her every act: this was Ione. 


Ul 
’T was in the radiant summer 
weather, 
When God looked, smiling, 


from the sky; 
And we went wand’ring much to- 
gether 
By wood and lane, Ione and 
I, 
Attracted by the subtle tie 
Of common thoughts and com- 
mon tastes, 
Of eyes whose vision saw the 


same, 
And freely granted beauty’s 
claim 
Where others found but worthless 
wastes. 


We paused to hear the far bells 


ringing 
Across the distance, sweet and 
clear. 
We listened to the wild bird’s 
singing 
The song he meant for his 
mate’s ear, 
And deemed our chance to do 
so dear. 
We loved to watch the warrior 
Sun, 


With flaming shield and flaunt- 
ing crest, 


Go striding down the gory 


West, 
When Day’s long fight was fought 
and won. 
And life became a_ different 
story ; 
Where’er I looked, I saw new 
light. 
Earth’s self assumed a greater 
glory, 
Mine eyes were cleared to 


fuller sight. 
Then first I saw the need and 


might 
Of that fair band, the singing 
throng, 
Who, gifted with the skill di- 
vine, 
Take up the threads of life, 
spun fine, 
And weave them into soulful 
song. 


They sung for me, whose passion 
pressing 
My soul, found vent in song 
nor line. 
They bore the burden of express- 
ing 
All that I felt, with art’s de- 
sign, 
And every word of theirs was 
mine. 
I read them to Ione, ofttimes, 
By hill and shore, beneath fair 
skies, 


[ 34] 








PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


And she looked deeply in mine 
eyes, 
And knew my love spoke through 
their rhymes. 


Her life was like the stream that 
floweth, 
And mine was like the waiting 
sea} 
Her love was like the flower that 
bloweth, 
And mine was like the search- 
ing bee — 
I found her sweetness all for 
me. 
God plied him in the mint of 
time, 


And coined for us a golden day, 
And rolled it ringing down 
life’s way 
With love’s sweet music in its 
chime. 


And God unclasped the Book of 
Ages, 
And laid it open to our sight; 
Upon the dimness of its pages, 
So long consigned to rayless 
night, 
He shed the glory of his light. 
We read them well, we read them 
long, 
And ever thrilling did we see 
That love ruled all human- 
ity,— 
The master passion, pure and 
strong. 


III 
To-day my skies are bare and 
ashen, 
And bend on me without a 
beam. 
Since love is held the master-pas- 
sion, 
Its loss must be the pain su- 
preme — 
And grinning Fate has wrecked 
my dream. 


But pardon, dear departed Guest, 
I will not rant, I will not rail; 
For good the grain must feel 

the flail; 

There are whom love has never 

blessed. 


I had and have a younger brother, 
One whom I loved and love to- 
day 
As never fond and doting mother 
Adored the babe who found its 
way 
From heavenly scenes into her 
day. 
Oh, he was full of youth’s new 
wine,— 
A man on life’s ascending slope, 
Flushed with ambition, full of 
hope; 
And every wish of his was mine. 


A kingly youth; the way before 
him 
Was thronged with victories to 
be won; 


[35] 





THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


So joyous, too, the heavens o’er 


him 

Were bright with an unchang- 
ing sun,— 

His days with rhyme were over- 
run. | 

Toil had not taught him Nature’s 

prose, 

Tears had not dimmed his bril- 
liant eyes, 

And sorrow had not made him 
Wise; 


His life was in the budding rose. 


I know not how I came to 
waken, 
Some instinct pricked my soul 
to sight; 
My heart by some vague thrill 
was shaken,— 
A thrill so true and yet so 
slight, 
I hardly deemed I read aright. 
As when a sleeper, ign’rant why, 
Not knowing what mysterious 


hand 
Has called him out of slumber- 
land, 
Starts up to find some danger 
nigh. 


Love is a guest that comes, un- 
bidden, 
But, having come, asserts his 
right; 
He will not be repressed nor hid- 
den. 


And so my brother’s dawning 
plight 
Became uncovered to my sight. 
Some sound-mote in his passing 
tone 
Caught in the meshes of my 
ear ; 
Some little glance, a shade too 
dear, 
Betrayed the love he bore Ione. 


What could I do? 
brother, 

And young, and full of hope 

and trust; 
I could not, dared not try to 
smother 

His flame, and turn his heart to 

dust. 

I knew how oft life gives a 
crust 

To starving men who cry for 
bread; 

But he was young, so few his 

days, 

He had not learned the great 
world’s ways, 
Disappointment’s 
read, 


He was my 


Nor 


volumes 


However fair and rich the booty, 
I could not make his loss my 


gain. 

For love is dear, but dearer 
duty, 

And here my way was clear and 
plain. 


[36] 








PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


I saw how I could save him pain. 
And so, with all my day grown 
dim, 
That this loved brother’s sun 
might shine, 
I joined his suit, gave over 
mine, 
And sought Ione, to plead for him. 


I found her in an eastern bower, 
Where all day long the am’rous 
sun 
Lay by to woo a timid flower. 
This day his course was well- 
nigh run, 
But still with lingering art he 
spun 
Gold fancies on the shadowed 
wall. 
The vines waved soft and green 
above, 
And there where one might tell 
his love, 
I told my griefs —I told her all! 


I told her all, and as she heark- 
ened, — 
A tear-drop fell upon her dress. 
With grief her flushing brow was 
darkened ; 
One sob that she could not re- 
press 
Betrayed the depths of her dis- 
tress. 
Upon her grief my sorrow fed, 
And I was bowed with unlived 
years, 


My heart swelled with a sea of 
tears, 

The tears my manhood could not 
shed. 


The world is Rome, and Fate is 


Nero, 
Disporting in the hour of 
doom. 
God made us men; times make the 
hero — 
But in that awful space of 
gloom 
I gave no thought but sorrow’s 
room. 
All —all was dim within that 
bower, 
What time the sun divorced the 
day ; 
And all the shadows, glooming 
gray, 
Proclaimed the sadness of the 
, hour. 


She could not speak—no word 
was needed ; 
Her look, half strength and half 
despair, 
Told me I had not vainly pleaded, 
That she would not ignore my 
prayer. 
And so she turned and left me 
there, 
And as she went, so passed my 
bliss ; 
She loved me, I could not mis- 
take — 


[3'7: 





THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


But for her own and my love’s 
sake, 

Her womanhood could rise to 
this! 


My wounded heart fled swift to 
cover, 
And life at times seemed very 
drear. 
My brother proved an ardent 
lover — 
What had so young a man to 
fear? 
He wed Ione within the year. 
No shadow clouds her tranquil 
brow, 
Men speak her husband’s name 
with pride, 
While she sits honored at his 
side — 
She is——she must be happy now! 


I doubt the course I took no 
longer, 
Since those I love seem satisfied. 
The bond between them will grow 
stronger 
As they go forward side by 
side; 
Then will my pains be jus- 
fied. 
Their joy is mine, and that is 
best — 
I am not totally bereft; 
For I have still the mem’ry 
left — 
Love stopped with me—a Royal 
Guest! 


RELIGION 

I aM no priest of crooks nor 
creeds, 

For human wants and human 
needs 

Are more to me than prophets’ 
deeds; 

And human tears and human 
cares 

Affect me more than human 
prayers. 


Go, cease your wail, lugubrious 
saint! 

You fret high Heaven with your 
plaint. 

Is this the ‘ Christian’s joy ” you 
paint? 

Is this the Christian’s boasted 
bliss ? 

Avails your faith no more than 
this? 


Take up your arms, come out with 
me, 

Let Heav’n alone; humanity 

Needs more and Heaven less from 


thee. 

With pity for mankind look 
"round; 

Help them to rise — and Heaven 
is found. 


[ 38 ] 





7 * — a Le 


ee ae 


4 
; 
‘ 
® 
? 
: 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


DEACON JONES’ GRIEV- 
ANCE 


I’ve been watchin’ of ’em, par- 
son, 
_ An’ I’m sorry fur to say 
*At my mind is not contented 


With the loose an’ keerless 
way 
"At the young folks treat the mu- 
SiC; 
*T ain’t the proper sort 0’ 
choir. . 
Then I don’t believe in Chris- 
tuns 


A-singin’ hymns for hire. 
But I never would ’a’ 
mured 
An’ the matter might ’a’ gone 
Ef it wasn’t fur the antics 
"At I’ve seen ’em kerry on; 
So I thought it was my donty 
Fur to come to you an’ ask 
Ef you would n’t sort o’ gently 
Take them singin’ folks to task. 


mur- 


Fust, the music they’ve ben 


singin’ 
Will disgrace us mighty soon; 
It’s a cross between a opry 
An’ a ol’ cotillion tune. 
With its dashes an’ its quavers 
An’ its hifalutin style — 
Why, it sets my head to swim- 
min’ 
When I’m comin’ down the 
aisle. 


Now it might be almost decent 
Ef it wasn’t fur the way 
"At they git up there an’ sing it, 
Hey dum diddle, loud and gay. 
Why, it shames the name 0’ 
sacred | 
In its brazen wordliness, 
An’ they ’ve even got “ Ol’ Hun- 
dred ”’ 
In a bold, new-fangled dress. 


You ’ll excuse me, Mr. Parson, 
Ef I seem a little sore; 

But I’ve sung the songs of Isr’el 
For threescore years an’ more, 

An’ it sort o’ hurts my feelin’s 
Fur to see ’em put away 

Fur these harum-scarum ditties 
"At is capturin’ the day. 


There ’s anuther little happ’nin’ 
"At I’Il mention while’ I’m 
here, 
Jes’ to show ’at my objections 
All is offered sound and clear. 
It was one day they was singin’ 
An’ was doin’ well enough — 
Singin’ good as people could sing 
Sich an awful mess o’ stuff — 


When the choir give a holler, 
An’ the organ give a groan, 
An’ they left one weak-voiced fel- 
ler 
A-singin’ there alone! 
But he stuck right to the music, 
Tho’ ’twas tryin’ as could 


be; 


[39] 





THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


An’ when I tried to help him, 
Why, the hull church scowled 


at me. 


You say that’s so-low singin’, 
Well, I pray the Lord that I 
Growed up when folks was 

willin’ 
To sing their hymns so high. 
Why, we never had sich doin’s 
In the good ol’ Bethel days, 


When the folks was all con- 
tented 

With the simple songs of 
praise. 


Now I may have spoke too open, 
But ’t was too hard to keep 
still, 
An’ I hope you ’ll tell the singers 
’At I bear ’em no ill-will. 
"At they all may git to glory 
Is my wish an’ my desire, 
But they ’ll need some extry train- 
in’ ; 
’Fore they jine the heavenly 
choir. 


ALICE 


KNow you, winds that blow your 
course 
Down the verdant valleys, 
That somewhere you must, per- 
force, 
Kiss the brow of Alice? 
When her gentle face you find, 
Kiss it softly, naughty wind. 


Roses waving fair and sweet 
Thro’ the garden alleys, 
Grow into a glory meet 
For the eye of Alice; 
Let the wind your offering bear 
Of sweet perfume, faint and rare. 


Lily holding crystal dew 
In your pure white chalice, 
Nature kind hath fashioned you 
Like the soul of Alice; 
It of purest white is wrought, 
Filled with gems of crystal 
thought. 


AFTER THE QUARREL 


So we, who’ve supped the self- 
same cup, 
To-night must lay our friend- 
ship by; 
Your wrath has 
judgment up, 
Hot breath has blown the ashes 


burned your 


high. 
You say that you are wronged — 
ah, well, 
I count that friendship poor, 
at best 


A bauble, a mere bagatelle, 
That cannot stand so slight a 
test. 


I fain would still have been your 
friend, 
And talked and laughed and 
loved with you; 


[ 40 ] 


\ 


N PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Bit since it must, why, let it end; 
The false but dies, "tis not the 
\ true. 
So we are favored, you and I, 
Who only want the living 
truth. 
It was not good to nurse the lie; 
*T is well it died in harmless 
youth. 


I go from you to-night to sleep. 
Why, what’s the odds? why 
should I grieve? 
I have no fund of tears to weep 
For happenings that undeceive. 
The days shall come, the days 
shall go 
Just as they came and went be- 
fore. 
The sun shall shine, the streams 
shall flow 
Though you and I are friends no 
more. 


And in the volume of my years, 
Where all my thoughts and 
acts shall be, 
‘The page whereon your name 
appears 
Shall be forever sealed to me. 
Not that I hate you over-much, 
”T is less of hate than love de- 
fied ; 
Howe’er, our hands no more shall 
touch, 
Well go our ways, the world is 
wide, 


BEYOND THE YEARS 


I 


BEYOND the years the answer lies, 
Beyond where brood the grieving 
skies 
And Night drops tears. 
Where Faith rod-chastened smiles 
to rise 
And doff its fears, 
And carping Sorrow pines and 
dies — 
Beyond the years. 


II 


Beyond the years the prayer for rest 
Shall beat no more within the 
breast ; 
The darkness clears, 
And Morn perched on the moun- 
tain’s crest 
_ Her form uprears — 
The day that is to come is best, 
Beyond the years. 


III 


Beyond the years the soul shall find 
That endless peace for which it 
pined, 
For light appears, 
And to the eyes that still were blind 
With blood and tears, 
Their sight shall come all uncon- 
fined 
Beyond the years. 


[41 ] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


AFTER A VISIT 


I BE'N down in ole Kentucky 
Fur a week er two, an’ say, 

”T wuz ez hard ez breakin’ oxen 
Fur to tear myse’f away. 

Allus argerin’ ’bout fren’ship 
An’ yer hospitality — 

Y’ ain’t no right to talk about it 
Tell you be’n down there to see. 


See jest how they give you welcome 
‘To the best that ’s in the land, 
Feel the sort o’ grip they give you 
When they take you by the hand. 
Hear ’em say, “ We’re glad to 
have you, 
Better stay a week er two;”’ 
An’ the way they treat you makes 
you 
Feel that ev’ry word is true. 


Feed you tell you hear the buttons 
Crackin’ on yore Sunday vest; 
Haul you roun’ to see the wonders 
‘Tell you have to cry for rest. 
Drink yer health an’ pet an’ praise 
you 
Tell you git to feel ez great 
Ez the Sheriff o’ the county 
Er the Gov’ner o’ the State. 


Wife, she sez I must be crazy 
’Cause I go on so, an’ Nelse 
He ‘lows, “Goodness gracious! 
daddy, 
Cain’t you talk about nuthin’ 
else?” 


Well, pleg-gone it, I ’m jes’ tickied, 
Bein’ tickled ain’t no sin; 

I be’n down in ole Kentucky, 
An’ I want o’ go ag’in. 


CURTAIN 


VILLAIN shows his indiscretion, 

Villain’s partner makes confession. 

Juvenile, with golden tresses, 

Finds her pa and dons long dresses. 

Scapegrace comes home money- 
laden, 

Hero comforts tearful maiden, 

Soubrette marries loyal chappie, 

Villain skips, and all are happy. 


THE SPELLIN’-BEE 


I NEVER shall furgit that night 
when father hitched up Dob- 
bin, 

An’ all us youngsters clambered in 
an’ down the road went bob- 
bin’ 

To school where we was kep’ 
at work in every kind o’ 
weather, 

But where that night a spellin’- 
bee was callin’ us together. 

’Twas one o’ Heaven’s banner 
nights, the stars was all a 
glitter, 

The moon was shinin’ like the 
hand o’ God had jest then lit 
her. 


[ 42 ] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


The ground was white with spot- 
less snow, the blast was sort 
o’ stingin’; 

But underneath our round-abouts, 
you bet our hearts was sing- 
in’. 

That spellin’-bee had be’n the talk 
o’ many a precious moment, 

The youngsters all was wild to see 
jes’ what the precious show 
meant, 

An’ we whose years was in their 
teens was little less desirous 

O’ gittin’ to the meetin’ so’s our 
sweethearts could admire us. 

So on we went so anxious fur to 
satisfy our mission 

That father had to box our ears, 
to smother our ambition. 

But boxin’ ears was too short 
work to hinder cur arrivin’, 

He jest turned roun’ an’ smacked 
us all, an’ kep’ right on 
a-drivin’. 

Well, soon the schoolhouse hove 
in sight, the winders beamin’ 
brightly ; 

The sound o’ talkin’ reached our 
ears, and voices laffin’ lightly. 

It puffed us up so full an’ big ’at 
Ill jest bet a dollar, 

There wa’n’t a feller there but 
felt the strain upon his col- 
lar. 

So down we jumped an’ in we 
went ez sprightly ez you 
make ’em, 


But somethin’ grabbed us by the 
knees an’ straight began to 


shake ’em. 
Fur once within that lighted 
room, our feelin’s took a 


canter, 
An’ scurried to the zero mark ez 
quick ez Tam O’Shanter. 
"Cause there was crowds 0’ peo- 
ple there, both sexes an’ all 
stations; 

It looked like all the town had 
come an’ brought all their re- 


lations. 

The first I saw was Nettie Gray, 
I thought that girl was 
dearer 


"N’ gold; an’ when I got a chance, 


you bet I aidged up near 
her. 


An’ Farmer Dobbs’s girl was 
there, the one ’at Jim was 
‘sweet on, 

An’ Cyrus Jones an’ Mandy 
Smith an’ Faith an’ Patience 
Deaton. 


Then Parson Brown an’ Lawyer 
Jones were present —all at- 
tention, 

An’ piles on piles of other folks 
too numerous to mention. 
The master rose an’ briefly said: 
“Good friends, dear brother 

Crawford, 

To spur the pupils’ minds along, 
a little prize has offered. 

To him who spells the best to- 


[ 43 ] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


night — or ’t may be ‘ her ’— 
no tellin’— 

He offers ez a jest reward, this 
precious work on spellin’.” 

A little blue-backed spellin’-book 
with fancy scarlet trimmin’; 

We boys devoured it with our 
eyes—so did the girls an’ 
women. 

He held it up where all could see, 
then on the table set it, 

An’ ev’ry speller in the house felt 
mortal bound to get it. 

At his command we fell in line, 
prepared to do our dooty, 
Outspell the rest an’ set ’em down, 
an’ carry home the booty. 

"T was then the merry times be- 
gan, the blunders, an’ the 
laffin’, 

The nudges an’ the nods an’ winks 
an’ stale good-natured chaf- 
fin’. 

Ole Uncle Hiram Dane was there, 
the clostest man a-livin’, 
Whose only bugbear seemed to be 

the dreadful fear o’ givin’. 

His beard was long, his hair un- 
cut, his clothes all bare an’ 


dingy ; 

It wasn’t ’cause the man was 
pore, but jest so mortal 
stingy ; 


An’ there he sot by Sally Riggs 
a-smilin’ an’ a-smirkin’, 

An’ all his children lef’? to home a 
diggin’ an’ a-workin’. 


A widower he was, an’ Sal was 
thinkin’ ’at she ’d wing him; 

I reckon he was wond’rin’ what 
them rings o’ hern would 
bring him. | 

An’ when the spellin’-test com- 
menced, he up an’ took his 
station, 

A-spellin’ with the best o’ them 
to beat the very nation. 

An’ when he’d spell some young- 
ster down, he’d turn to look 
at Sally, 

An’ say: “ The teachin’ nowadays 
can’t be o’ no great vally.” 

But true enough the adage says, 
“Pride walks in slipp’ry 
places,” 

Fur soon a thing occurred that 
put a smile on all our faces. 

The laffter jest kep’ ripplin’ ’roun’ 
an’ teacher could n’t quell it, 

Fur when he give out “ charity ” 

ole Hiram could n’t spell it. 

lafin’ °s: ‘ketchin® “ant 
throwed some others off their 
bases, 

An’ folks ’u’d miss the very word 
that seemed to fit their cases. 

Why, fickle little Jessie Lee come 
near the house upsettin’ 

By puttin’ in a double “kay” to 
spell the word “ coquettin’.” 

An’ when it come to Cyrus Jones, 
it tickled me all over — 

Him settin’ up to Mandy Smith 
an’ got sot down on “ lover.” 


But 


[ 44] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


But Lawyer Jones of all gone men 
did shorely look the gonest, 

When he found out that he ’d fur- 
got to put the “h” in “ hon- 
est.” 

An’ Parson Brown, whose ser- 
mons were too long fur tol- 
eration, 

Caused lots o’ smiles by missin’ 
when they give out “con- 
densation.” 

So one by one they giv’ it up— 
the big words kep’ a-landin’, 

‘Till me an’ Nettie Gray was left, 
the only ones a-standin’, 

An’ then my inward strife began 
—I guess my mind was 
petty — 

I did so want that spellin’-book; 
but then to spell down Net- 
tie 

Jest sort o’ went ag’in my grain — 
I somehow could n’t do it, 

An’ when I git a notion fixed, 
I’m great on stickin’ to it. 

So when they giv’ the next word 
out—I hadn’t orter tell 
it, 

But then “twas all fur Nettie’s 
sake— I missed so’s_ she 
could spell it. 

She spelt the word, then looked at 
me so lovin’-like an’ mello’, 

I tell you *t sent a hunderd pins 
a shootin’ through a fello’. 


O’ course I had to stand the jokes 
an’ chaffin’ of the fello’s, 

But when they handed her the 
book I vow I wasn’t jealous. 

We sung a hymn, an’ Parson 
Brown dismissed us like he 

m OTeer, 

Fur, la! he’d learned a thing er 
two an’ made his blessin’ 
shorter. 

*T was late an’ cold when we got 
out, but Nettie liked cold 
weather, 

An’ so did I, so we agreed we’d 
jest walk home together. 
We both wuz silent, fur of words 
we nuther had a surplus, 
"Till she spoke out quite sudden 
like, ‘‘ You missed that word 

on purpose.” 

Well, I declare it frightened me; 
at first I tried denyin’, 

But Nettie, she jest smiled an’ 
smiled, she knowed that I 
was lyin’. 

Sez she: “That book is yourn by 
right;” sez I: “It never 
could be — 

I — I — you — ah—” an’ there 
I stuck, an’ well she under- 
stood me. 

So we agreed that later on when 
age had giv’ us tether, 

We'd jine our lots an’ settle down 
to own that book together. 


b] 


[45 ] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


KEEP A-PLUGGIN’ AWAY 


I’ve a humble little motto 
That is homely, though 
true,— 

Keep a-pluggin’ away. 
It’s a thing when I’ve an object 
That I always try to do,— 

Keep a-pluggin’ away. 

When you’ve rising storms to 
quell, 
When opposing waters swell, 
It will never fail to tell,— 
Keep a-pluggin’ away. 


ites 


If the hills are high before 
And the paths are hard to climb, 
Keep a-pluggin’ away. 
And remember that successes 
Come to him who bides his 
time,— 
Keep a-pluggin’ away. 
From the greatest to the least, 
None are from the rule released. 
Be thou toiler, poet, priest, 
Keep a-pluggin’ away. 


Delve away beneath the surface, 
‘There is treasure farther down,— 
Keep a-pluggin’ away. 
Let the rain come down in tor- 
rents, 

Let the threat’ning heavens frown, 
Keep a-pluggin’ away. 
When the clouds have 

away, 


rolled 


There will come a brighter day 
All your labor to repay,— 
Keep a-pluggin’ away. 


There ’ll be lots of sneers to swal- 
low, 
There ’Il be lots of pain to bear,— 
Keep a-pluggin’ away. 
If you ’ve got your eye on heaven, 
Some bright day you’ll wake up 
there,— 
Keep a-pluggin’ away. 
Perseverance still is king; 
Time its sure reward will bring; 
Work and wait unwearying,— 
Keep a-pluggin’ away. 


NIGHT OF LOVE 


THE moon has left the sky, love, 
The stars are hiding now, 

And frowning on the world, love, 
Night bares her. sable brow. 
The snow is on the ground, love, 
And cold and keen the air is. 

I’m singing here to you, love; 
You ’re dreaming there in Paris. 


But this is Nature’s law, love, 
Though just it may not seem, 
That men should wake to sing, 

love, 
While maidens sleep and dream. 
Them care may not molest, love, 
Nor stir them from their slum- 
bers, 


[ 46] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Though midnight find the swain, 
love, 
Still halting o’er his numbers. 


I watch the rosy dawn, love, 
Come stealing up the east, 
While all things round rejoice, 
love, | 
That Night her 
ceased. 

‘The lark will soon be heard, love, 
And on his way be winging; 
‘When Nature’s poets wake, love, 

Why should a man be singing? 


reign has 


COLUMBIAN ODE 
I 


Four hundred years ago a tangled 
waste 
Lay sleeping on the west At- 
lantic’s side; 


Their devious ways the Old 
World’s millions traced 
Content, and loved, and la- 


bored, dared and died, 
While students still believed the 
charts they conned, 
And revelled in their thriftless 


ignorance, 
Nor dreamed of other lands that 
lay beyond 
Old Ocean’s dense, indefinite 
expanse. 


II 


But deep within her heart old Na- 
ture knew 
‘That she had once arrayed, at 
Earth’s behest, 
Another offspring, fine and fair 
to view,— 
The chosen suckling of the 
mother’s breast. 
The child was wrapped in vest- 
ments soft and fine, 
Each fold a work of Nature’s 
matchless art; 
The mother looked on it with love 
divine, 
strained the loved one 
closely to her heart. 
And there it lay, and with the 
warmth grew strong 
And hearty, by the salt sea 
breezes fanned, 
Till Time with mellowing touches 
- passed along, 
And changed the infant to a 
mighty land. 


And 


III 


But men knew naught of this, till 
there arose 


That mighty mariner, the 
Genoese, 

Who dared to try, in spite of fears 
and foes, 


The unknown fortunes of un- 
sounded seas. 

O noblest of Italia’s sons, thy 
bark | 


147] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Went not alone into that shroud- 
ing night! | 
O dauntless darer of the rayless 
dark, 
The world sailed with thee to 
eternal light! 
The deer-haunts that with game 
were crowded then 
To-day are tilled and cultivated 
lands; 
schoolhouse tow’rs 
Bruin had his den, 
And where the wigwam stood 
the chapel stands; 
The place that nurtured men of 
savage mien 
Now teems with men of Na- 
ture’s noblest types; 
Where moved the forest-foliage 
banner green, 
Now flutters in the breeze the 
stars and stripes! 


where 


The 


A BORDER BALLAD 


Ou, I have n’t got long to live, for 
we all 
Die soon, e’en those who live 
longest ; 
‘And the poorest and weakest are 
taking their chance 
Along with the richest and 
strongest. 
So it’s heigho for a glass and a 
song, 
And a bright eye over the table, 


And a dog for the hunt when the 
game is flush, 
And the pick of a gentleman’s 
stable. 


There is Dimmock o’ Dune, he 
was here yester-night, 
But he’s rotting to-day on Glen 
Arragh; 
*T was the hand o’ MacPherson 
that gave him the blow, 
And the vultures shall feast on 
his marrow. 
But it’s heigho for a brave old 
song 
And a glass while we are able; 
Here’s a health to death and an- 
other cup 
To the bright eye over the table. 


I can show a broad back and a 
jolly deep chest, 
But who argues now on ap- 


pearance ? 
A blow or a thrust or a stumble 
at best 
May send me to-day to my 
clearance. 
Then it’s heigho for the things I 
love, 
My mother ’ll be soon wearing 
sable, 


But give me my horse and my dog 
and my glass, 
And a bright eye over the table. 


[ 48 ] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


AN EASY-GOIN’ FELLER 


THER’ ain’t no use in all this 
strife, 

An’ hurryin’, pell-mell, right thro’ 
life. 

I don’t believe in goin’ too fast 

To see what kind o’ road you’ve 
passed. 

It ain’t no mortal kind 0’ good, 

"N’ I would n’t hurry ef I could. 

I like to jest go joggin’ ’long, 

To limber up my soul with song; 

To stop awhile ’n’ chat the men, 

"N’ drink some cider now an’ 
then. 

Do’ want no boss a-standin’ by 

To see me work; I allus try 

To do my dooty right straight up, 

An’ earn what fills my plate an’ 
cup. 

An’ ez fur boss, I ll be my own, 

I like to jest be let alone, 

To plough my strip an’ tend my 
bees, 

An’ do jest like I doggoned please. 

My head’s all right, an’ my 
heart ’s meller, 

But I’m a easy-goin’ feller. 


A NEGRO LOVE SONG 


SEEN my lady home las’ night, 
Jump back, honey, jump back. 
Hel’ huh han’ an’ sque’z it tight, 
Jump back, honey, jump back. 

Hyeahd huh sigh a little sigh, 


Seen a light gleam f’om huh eye, 
An’ a smile go flittin’ by— | 
Jump back, honey, jump back. 


Hyeahd de win’ blow thoo de 
pine, 
Jump back, honey, jump back. 
Mockin’-bird was singin’ fine, 
Jump back, honey, jump back. 
An’ my hea’t was beatin’ so, 
When I reached my lady’s do’, 
Dat I could n’t ba’ to go — 
Jump back, honey, jump back. 


Put my ahm aroun’ huh wais’, 
Jump back, honey, jump back. 

Raised huh lips an’ took a tase, 
Jump back, honey, jump back. 

Love me, honey, love me true? 

Love me well ez I love you? 

An’ she answe’d, “ ’Cose I do ”— 


Jump back, honey, jump back. 


THE DILETTANTE: A 
MODERN TYPE 


He scribbles some in prose and 
verse, 
And now and then he prints it; 
He paints a little,— gathers some 
Of Nature’s gold and mints it. 


He plays a little, sings a song, 
Acts tragic roles, or funny; 
He does, because his love is strong, 
But not, oh, not for money! 


[ 49 ] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


He studies almost everything 
From social art to science; 
A thirsty mind, a flowing spring, 
Demand and swift compliance. 
He looms above the _ sordid 
crowd — 
At least through friendly lenses; 
While his mamma looks pleased 
and proud, 


And kindly pays expenses. 


BY THE STREAM 


By the stream I dream in calm 
delight, and watch as in a 
glass, 

How the clouds like crowds of 
snowy-hued and white-robed 
maidens pass, 

And the water into ripples breaks 
and sparkles as it spreads, 

Like a host of armored knights 
with silver helmets on their 
heads. 

And I deem the stream an emblem 
fit of human life may go, 

For I find a mind may sparkle 
much and yet but shallows 
show, 

And a soul may glow with myriad 
lights and wondrous mys- 
teries, 

When it only lies a dormant thing 
and mirrors what it sees. 


THE COLORED SOLDIERS 


Ir the muse were mine to tempt it 


And my feeble voice were 
strong, 

If my tongue were trained to 
measures, 


I would sing a stirring song. 
I would sing a song heroic 

Of those noble sons of Ham, 
Of the gallant colored soldiers 

Who fought for Uncle Sam! 


In the early days you scorned 
them, 
And with many a flip and flout 
Said ‘‘ These battles are the white 
man’s, 
And the whites will fight the 
out.” . 
Up the hills you fought and fal- 
tered, 
In the vales you strove and bled, 
While your ears still heard the 
thunder 
Of the foes’ advancing tread. 


Then distress fell on the nation, 
And the flag was drooping low; 
Should the dust pollute your ban- 
ner? 
No! the nation shouted, No! 
So when War, in savage triumph, 


Spread abroad his funeral 
pall — 
Then you called the colored sol- 
diers, 


And they answered to your call. 


[50 ] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


And like hounds unleashed and 
eager 
For the life blood of the prey, 
Sprung they forth and bore them 
bravely 
In the thickest of the fray. 
And where’er the fight was hot- 
test, 
Where the bullets fastest fell, 
There they pressed unblanched 
and fearless 
At the very mouth of hell. 


Ah, they rallied to the standard 
To uphold it by their might; 
None were stronger in the labors, 
None were braver in the fight. 
From the blazing breach of Wag- 

ner 
To the plains of Olustee, 
They were foremost in the fight 
Of the battles of the free. 


And at Pillow! God have mercy 
On the deeds committed there, 
And the souls of those poor vic- 
tims 
Sent to Thee without a prayer. 
Let the fulness of Thy pity 
O’er the hot wrought spirits 
sway 
Of the gallant colored soldiers 
Who fell fighting on that day! 


Yes, the Blacks enjoy their free- 
dom, 
And they won it dearly, too; 


For the life blood of their thou- 
sands 
Did the southern fields bedew. 
In the darkness of their bondage, 
In the depths of slavery’s night, 
Their muskets flashed the dawn- 
ing, 
And they fought their way to 
light. 


They were comrades then and 
brothers, 
Are they more or less to-day? 
They were good to stop a bullet 
And to front the fearful fray. 
They were citizens and soldiers, 
When rebellion raised its head; 
And the traits that made them 
worthy, — 
Ah ! those virtues are not dead. 


They have shared your nightly 
— vigils, 
They have shared your daily 
toil ; 
And their blood with yours com- 
mingling 
Has enriched the Southern soil. 


They have slept and marched and 
suffered 
*Neath the same dark skies as 
you, 
They have met as fierce a foe- 
man, 
And have been as brave and 
true. 


[51] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


And their deeds shall find a record 
In the registry of Fame; 
For their blood has cleansed com- 
pletely 
Every blot of Slavery’s shame. 
So all honor and all glory 
To those noble sons of Ham— 
The gallant colored soldiers 
Who fought for Uncle Sam! 


NATURE AND ART 


TO MY FRIEND CHARLES BOOTH 
NETTLETON 


I 
THE young queen Nature, ever 
sweet and fair, 
Once on a time fell upon evil 
days. 
From hearing oft herself dis- 
cussed with praise, 
There grew within her heart the 
longing rare 
To see herself; and every passing 
air 
The warm desire fanned into 
lusty blaze. 
Full oft she sought this end by 
devious ways, 
But sought in vain, so fell she in 
despair. 
For none within her train nor by 
her side 
Could solve the task or give the 
envied boon. 
So day and night, beneath the 
sun and moon, 


She wandered to and fro unsatis- 
fied, 
Till Art came by, a blithe in- 
ventive elf, 
And made a glass wherein she 
saw herself. 


Il 


Enrapt, the queen gazed on her 
glorious self, | 
Then trembling with the thrill 
of sudden thought, 
Commanded that the 
wight be brought 
‘That she might dower him with 
lands and pelf. 
Then out upon the silent sea-lapt 
shelf 
And up the hills and on the 
downs they sought 
Him who so well and won- 
drously had wrought; 
And with much search found and 
brought home the elf. 
But he put by all gifts with sad 
replies, 
And from his lips these words 
flowed forth like wine: 
“O queen, I want no gift but 
thee,” he said. 
She heard and looked on him with 
love-lit eyes, 
Gave him her hand, low murmur- 
ing, “ I amthine, 
And at the morrow’s dawning 
they were wed. 


skilful 


[52] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


AFTER WHILE 
A POEM OF FAITH 


I THINK that though the clouds 
be dark, 

That though the waves dash o’er 
the bark, 

Yet after while the light will 
come, 

And in calm waters safe at home 

The bark will anchor. 

Weep not, my sad-eyed, gray- 

robed maid, 


Because your fairest blossoms 
fade, 

That sorrow still o’erruns your 

} cup, 

And even though you root them 
up, 


The weeds grow ranker. 


For after while your tears shall 


cease, 

And sorrow shall give way to 
peace; 

The flowers shall bloom, the 


weeds shall die, 
And in that faith seen, by and by 
Thy woes shall perish. 
Smile at old Fortune’s adverse 
tide, 
Smile when the scoffers sneer and 
chide. 
Oh, not for you the gems that 
pale, 
And not for you the flowers that 
fail ; 
Let this thought cherish: 


That after while the clouds will 


part, 

And then with joy the waiting 
heart 

Shall feel the light come stealing 
in, 


‘That drives away the cloud of sin 


And breaks its power. 
And you shall burst your chrysa- 
lis, 

And wing away to realms of 
bliss, 
Untrammelled, 
free, 

Above all earth’s anxiety 
From that same hour. 


pure, divinely 


THE OL’ TUNES 


You kin talk about yer anthems 
An’ yer arias an’ sich, 

An’ yer modern choir-singin’ 
‘That you think so awful rich; 
But you orter heerd us youngsters 

In the times now far away, 
A-singin’ o’ the ol’ tunes 
In the ol’-fashioned way. 


There was some of us sung treble 
An’ a few of us growled bass, 
An’ the tide o’ song flowed 

smoothly 
With its ’comp’niment o’ grace; 
‘There was spirit in that music, 
An’ a kind o’ solemn sway, 
A-singin’ o’ the ol’ tunes 
In the ol’-fashioned way. 


[53] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


I remember oft o’ standin’ 
In my homespun pantaloons — 
On my face the bronze an’ freckles 
O’ the suns o’ youthful Junes — 
Thinkin’ that no mortal minstrel 
Ever chanted sich a lay 
As the ol’ tunes we was singin’ 
In the ol’-fashioned way. 


The boys ’ud always lead us, 
An’ the girls ’ud all chime in 
Till the sweetness o’ the singin’ 


Robbed the list’nin’ soul o’ sin; 


An’ I used to tell the parson 
’T was as good to sing as pray, 
When the people sung the ol’ 
tunes 
In the ol’-fashioned way. 


How I long ag’in to hear ’em 
Pourin’ forth from soul to soul, 

With the treble high an’ meller, 
An’ the bass’s mighty roll; 

But the times is very diff’rent, 
An’ the music heerd to-day 

Ain’t the singin’ o’ the ol’ tunes 
In the ol’-fashioned way. 


Little screechin’ by a woman, 
Little squawkin’ by a man, 
Then the organ’s twiddle-twaddle, 
Jest the empty space to span, — 
An’ ef you should even think it, 
*T is n’t proper fur to say 
That you want to hear the ol’ 
tunes 
In the ol’-fashioned way. 


But I think that some bright 
mornin’, 
When the toils of life air o’er, 
An’ the sun o’ heaven arisin’ 
Glads with light the happy 
shore, 
I shall hear the angel chorus, 
In the realms of endless day, 
A-singin’ 0’ the ol’ tunes 
In the ol’-fashioned way. 


MELANCHOLIA 


SILENTLY without my window, 
Tapping gently at the pane, 
Falls the rain. 

Through the trees sighs the breeze 
Like a soul in pain. 

Here alone I sit and weep; 

Thought hath banished sleep. 


Wearily I sit and listen 
To the water’s ceaseless drip. 
To my lip 

Fate turns up the bitter cup, 
Forcing me to sip; 

’T is a bitter, bitter drink, 

Thus I sit and think, — 


Thinking things unknown and 
awful, 
‘Thoughts 
themes, 
Waking dreams. 
Spectres dark, corpses stark, 
Show the gaping seams 
Whence the cold and cruel knife 
Stole away their life. 


on wild, uncanny 


[54] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Bloodshot eyes all strained and 
staring, 

Gazing ghastly into mine; 
Blood like wine 

On the brow — clotted now— 
Shows death’s dreadful sign. 

Lonely vigil still I keep; 

Would that I might sleep! 


Still, oh, still, my brain is whirl- 


ing! 
Still runs on my stream of 
thought; 


I am caught 
In the net fate hath set. 
Mind and soul are brought 
To destruction’s very brink; 
Yet I can but think! 


Eyes that look into the future,— 
Peeping forth from out my 
mind, 
They will find 
Some new weight, soon or late, 
On my soul to bind, 
Crushing all its courage out,— 
Heavier than doubt. 


the Eastern monarch’s 
daughter, 

Rising from her dewy bed, 

Lays her head 
’Gainst the clouds’ sombre 

shrouds 

Now half fringed with red. 
O’er the land she ’gins to peep; 
Come, O gentle Sleep! 


Dawn, 


Hark! the morning cock is crow- 
ing ; 
Dreams, like ghosts, must hie 
away; 
"Tis the day. 
Rosy morn now is born; 
Dark thoughts may not stay. 
Day my brain from foes will keep; 
Now, my soul, I sleep. 


THE WOOING 


A YOUTH went faring up and 
down, 
Alack and well-a-day. 
He fared him to the market town, 
Alack and well-a-day. 
And there he met a maiden fair, 
With hazel eyes and auburn hair; 
His heart went from him then and 
there, 


Alack and well-a-day. 


She posies sold right merrily, 
Alack and well-a-day ; 

But not a flower was fair as she, 
Alack and well-a-day. 

He bought a rose and sighed a 

sigh, 

‘Ah, dearest maiden, would that I 

Might dare the seller too to buy! ” 
Alack and well-a-day. 


She tossed her head, the coy co- 
quette, 
Alack and well-a-day. 


Reeve 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


“T’m not, sir, in the market yet,” 
Alack and well-a-day. 
“Your love must cool upon a 
shelf ; 
Tho’ much I sell for gold and 
pelf, 
I’m yet too young to sell myself,” 
Alack and well-a-day. 


The youth was filled with sorrow 
sore, 
Alack and well-a-day. 
And looked he at the maid once 
more, 
Alack and well-a-day. 
Then loud he cried, ‘‘ Fair maid- 
en, if 
Too young to sell, now as I live, 
You're not too young yourself to 
give,” 


Alack and well-a-day. 


The little maid cast down her 
eyes, 
Alack and well-a-day. 
And many a flush began to rise, 
Alack and well-a-day. 
“Why, since you are so bold,” she 
said, 
“‘T doubt not you are highly bred, 
So take me!” and the twain were 
wed, 


Alack and well-a-day. 


MERRY AUTUMN 


It’s all a farce,— these tales they 
tell 
About the breezes sighing, 
And moans astir o’er field and 
dell, 


Because the year is dying. 


Such principles are most absurd,— 
I care not who first taught 
em; 
There’s nothing known to beast 
or bird 


To make a solemn autumn. 


In solemn times, when grief holds 
sway 
With countenance distressing, 
You'll note the more of black and 
gray 
Will then be used in dressing. 


Now purple tints are all around; 
The sky is blue and mellow; 
And e’en the grasses turn the 

ground 
From modest green to yellow. 


The seed burrs all with laughter 
crack : | 

"On featherweed and jimson ; 

And leaves that should be dressed 
in black 


Are all decked out in crimson. 


A butterfly goes winging by; 
A singing bird comes after; 


[56] 


sky, 
Is bubbling o’er with laughter. 


The ripples wimple on the rills, 
Like sparkling little lasses; 


The sunlight runs along the hills, ° 


And laughs among the grasses. 


The earth is just so full of fun 
It really can’t contain it; 
And streams of mirth so freely 
run 
‘The heavens seem to rain it. 


Don’t talk to me of solemn days 
In autumn’s time of splendor, 
Because the sun shows fewer rays, 
_And these grow slant and slen- 

der, 


Why, it’s the climax of the 
year, — 
The highest time of living! — 
(Till naturally its bursting cheer 
Just melts into thanksgiving. 


WHEN DE CO’N PONE’S 


HOT 


Dey is times in life when Nature 
Seems to slip a cog an’ go, 
Jes’ a-rattlin’ down creation, 
Lak an ocean’s overflow; 
When de worl’ jes’ stahts a-spin- 
nin’ 


Lak a picaninny’s top, 


\ PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 
And Nature, all from earth to 


An’ yo’ cup o’ joy is brimmin’ 
*T well it seems about to slop, 
An’ you feel jes’ lak a racah, 
Dat is trainin’ fu’ to trot — 
When yo’ mammy says de blessin’ 
An’ de co’n pone’s hot. - 


When you set down at de table, 
Kin’ 0’ weary lak an’ sad, 
An’ you’se jes’ a little tiahed 
An’ purhaps a little mad; 
How yo’ gloom tu’ns into glad- 
ness, 
How yo’ joy drives out de 
doubt 
When de oven do’ is opened, 
An’ de smell comes po’in’ out; 
Why, de ’lectric light o’ Heaven 
Seems to settle on de spot, 
When yo’ mammy says de blessin’ 
An’ de co’n pone’s hot. 


When de cabbage pot is steamin’ 
An’ de bacon good an’ fat, 
When de chittlins is a-sputter’n’ 
So’s to show you whah dey’s 
at: 
Tek away yo’ sody biscuit, 
Tek away yo’ cake an’ pie, 
Fu’ de glory time is comin’, 
An’ it’s ’proachin’ mighty 
nigh, 
An’ you want to jump an’ hollah, 
Dough you know you’d bettah 
not, 
When yo’ mammy says de blessin’ 
An’ de co’n pone’s hot. 


[57] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


I have hyeahd o’ lots o’ sermons, 
An’ I’ve hyeahd o’ lots o’ 
prayers, 
An’ I’ve listened to some singin’ 
Dat has tuck me up de stairs 
Of de Glory-Lan’ an’ set me 
Jes’ below de Mastah’s th’one, 
An’ have lef’ my hea’t a-singin’ 
In a happy aftah tone; 
But dem wu’ds so sweetly mur- 
mured 
Seem to tech de softes’ spot, 
When my mammy says de blessin’, 
An’ de co’n pone’s hot. 


BALLAD 


I KNow my love is true, 
And oh the day is fair. 
The sky is clear and blue, 
The flowers are rich of hue, 
The air I breathe is rare, 
I have no grief or care; 
For my own love is true, 


And oh the day is fair. 


My love is false I find, 
And oh the day is dark. 
Blows sadly down the wind, 
While sorrow holds my mind; 
I do not hear the lark, 
For quenched is life’s dear 
spark,— 
My love is false I find, 
And oh the day is dark! 


For love doth make the day 
Or dark or doubly bright; 
Her beams along the way 
Dispel the gloom and gray. 
She lives and all is bright, 
She dies and life is night. 
For love doth make the day, 
Or dark or doubly bright. 


THE CHANGE HAS COME 


THE change has come, and Helen 
sleeps — 
Not sleeps; but wakes to greater 
deeps 
Of wisdom, glory, truth, and 
light, 
Than ever blessed her seeking 
sight, 
In this low, long, lethargic 
night, 
Worn out with strife 
Which men call life. 


The change has come, and who 
would say 
“TI would it were not come to- 
day”? 
What were the respite till to- 
morrow? 
Postponement of a certain sor- 
row, 
From which each passing day 
would borrow! 
Let grief be dumb, 
‘The change has come. 


[58] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


COMPARISON 


THE sky of brightest gray seems 
dark 
To one whose sky was ever 
white. 
To one who never knew a spark, 
Thro’ all his life, of love or 
light, 
The grayest cloud seems over- 
bright. 


The robin sounds a beggar’s note 
Where one the nightingale has 

heard, 

But he for whom no silver throat 
Its liquid music ever stirred, 
Deems robin still the sweetest 

bird. 


A CORN-SONG 


On the wide veranda white, 
In the purple failing light, 

Sits the master while the sun is 
lowly burning; 

And his dreamy thoughts are 
drowned 

In the softly flowing sound 

Of the corn-songs of the field- 
hands slow returning. 


Oh, we hoe de co’n 
Since de ehly mo’n; 
~ Now de sinkin’ sun 
Says de day is done. 


O’er the fields with heavy tread, 
Light of heart and high of head, 


Though the halting steps be la- 
bored, slow, and weary; 
Still the spirits brave and strong 

Find a comforter in song, 
And their corn-song rises ever 
loud and cheery. 


Oh, we hoe de co’n 
Since de ehly mo’n; 
Now de sinkin’ sun 
Says de day is done. 


To the master in his seat, 

Comes the burden, full and sweet, 

Of the mellow minor music grow- 
ing clearer, 

As the toilers raise the hymn, 

Thro’ the silence dusk and dim, 

To the cabin’s restful shelter 
drawing nearer. 


Oh, we hoe de co’n 
Since de ehly mo’n; 
Now de sinkin’ sun 
Says de day is done. 


And a tear is in the eye 

Of the master sitting by, 

As he listens to the echoes low- 
replying 

To the music’s fading calls 

As it faints away and falls 

Into silence, deep within the cabin 
dying. 


Oh, we hoe de co’n 
Since de ehly mo’n; 
Now de sinkin’ sun 
Says de day is done. 


[59] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


DISCOVERED 


SEEN you down at chu’ch las’ 
night, 
Nevah min’, Miss Lucy. 
What I mean? oh, dat’s all right, 
Nevah min’, Miss Lucy. 
You was sma’t ez sma’t could be, 
But you could n’t hide f’om me. 
Ain’t I got two eyes to see! 
Nevah min’, Miss Lucy. 


Guess you thought you’s awful 
keen ; 
Nevah min’, Miss Lucy. 
Evahthing you done, I seen; 
Nevah min’, Miss Lucy. 
Seen him tek yo’ ahm jes’ so, 
When he got outside de do’ — 
Oh, I know dat man’s yo’ beau! 
Nevah min’, Miss Lucy. 


Say now, honey, wha’d he say? — 

Nevah min’, Miss Lucy! 

Keep yo’ secrets—dat’s yo’ 
way — 

Nevah min’, Miss Lucy. 
Won't tell me an’ I’m yo’ pal — 
I’m gwine tell his othah gal, — 
Know huh, too, huh name is Sal; 

Nevah min’, Miss Lucy! 


DISAPPOINTED 


AN old man planted and dug and 
tended, 


Toiling in joy from dew to 
dew; 
The sun was kind, and the rain 
befriended ; | 
Fine grew his orchard and fair 
to view. 
Then he said: “I will quiet my 
thrifty fears, 
For here is fruit for my failing 
years.” 


But even then the storm-clouds 
gathered, 
Swallowing up the azure sky; 
The sweeping winds into white 
foam lathered : 
The placid breast of the bay, 
hard by; | 
Then the spirits that raged in the 
darkened air 
Swept o’er his orchard and left it 
bare. 


The old man stood in the rain, un- 
caring, 
Viewing the place the storm had 
swept; 
And then with a cry from his soul 
despairing, 
He bowed him down to the 
earth and wept. 
But a voice cried aloud from the 
driving rain; 
“Arise, old man, 
again!” 


and _ plant 


[ 60 ] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


INVITATION TO LOVE 


Come when the nights are bright 
with stars 
Or when the moon is mellow; 
Come when the sun his golden 
bars 
Drops on the hay-field yellow. 
Come in the twilight soft and 
gray, 
Come in the night or come in the 
day, 
Come, O love, whene’er you may, 
And you are welcome, welcome. 


You are sweet, O Love, dear 
Love, 

You are soft as the nesting dove. 

Come to my heart and bring it rest 

As the bird flies home to its wel- 
come nest. 


Come when my heart is full of 
grief 
Or when my heart is merry; 
Come with the falling of the leaf 
Or with the redd’ning cherry. 


Come when the year’s first blos- 


som blows, 

Come when the summer gleams 
and glows, 

Come with the winter’s drifting 
snows, 


And you are welcome, welcome. 


HE HAD HIS DREAM 


He had his dream, 

through life, 

Worked up to it through toil and 

strife. 

Afloat fore’er before his eyes, 

It colored for him all his skies: 
The storm-cloud dark 
Above his bark, 

The calm and listless vault of blue 

‘Took on its hopeful hue, 

It tinctured every passing beam — 


He had his dream. 


and all 


He labored hard and failed at last, 
His sails too weak to bear the 
blast, 
The raging tempests tore away 
And sent his beating bark astray, 
But what cared he 
For wind or sea! 
He said, “The tempest will be 
short, 
My bark will come to port.” 
He saw through every cloud a 
: gleam — 


He had his dream. 


GOOD-NIGHT 


THE lark is silent in his nest, 
The breeze is sighing in its 


flight, 
Sleep, Love, and peaceful be thy 
rest. 
Good-night, my love, good- 


night, good-night. 


[61 ] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Sweet dreams attend thee in thy 
sleep, 
To soothe thy rest till morn- 
ing’s light, 
And angels round thee vigil keep. 
Good-night, my love, good- 
night, good-night. 


Sleep well, my love, on night’s 
dark breast, 
And ease thy soul with slumber 
bright; 
Be joy but thine and I am blest. 
Good-night, my love, good- 
night, good-night. 


A COQUETTE CON- 
QUERED 


Yes, my ha’t ’s ez ha’d ez stone — 

Go ’way, Sam, an’ lemme ’lone. 

No; I ain’t gwine change my 
min’ — 

Ain’t gwine ma’y you — nufhn’ de 
kin’, 


Phiny loves you true an’ deah? 
Go ma’y Phiny; whut I keer? 
Oh, you need n’t mou’n an’ cry — 
I don’t keer how soon you die. 


Got a present! Whut you got? 
Somef’n fu’ de pan er pot! 

Huh! yo’ sass do sholy beat — 
Think I don’t git ’nough to eat? 


Whut’s dat un’neaf yo’ coat? 
Looks des lak a little shoat. 


*T ain’t no possum! Bless de 


Lamb! 


Yes, it is, you rascal, Sam! 


Gin it to me; whut you say? 

Ain’t you sma’t now! Oh, go 
way! 

Possum do look mighty nice, 

But you ax too big a price. 


Tell me, is you talkin’ true, 

Dat ’s de gal’s whut ma’ies you? 

Come back, Sam; now whah’s 
you gwine? 


_ Co’se you knows dat possum’s 


mine! 


NORA: A SERENADE 


Au, Nora, my Nora, the light 
fades away, | 
While Night like a spirit steals 
up o’er the hills; 
The thrush from his tree where he 
chanted all day, 
No longer his music in ecstasy 
trills. 
Then, Nora, be near me; thy pres- 
ence doth cheer me, 
Thine eye hath a gleam that is’ 
truer than gold. 


I cannot but love thee; so do not 
reprove me, 
If the strength of my passion 
should make me too bold. 


[ 62 § 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Nora, pride of my heart — 
Rosy cheeks, cherry lips, spar- 
kling with glee,— 
Wake from thy slumbers, wher- 
ever thou art; 
Wake from thy slumbers to 
me. 


Ah, Nora, my Nora, there’s love 
in the air,— 
It stirs in the numbers that 
thrill in my brain; 
Oh, sweet, sweet is love with its 
mingling of care, 
Though joy travels only a step 
before pain. 
Be roused from thy slumbers and 
list to my numbers; 
My heart is poured out in this 
song unto thee. 
Oh, be thou not cruel, thou treas- 
ure, thou jewel; 
Turn thine ear to my pleading 
and hearken to me. 


OCTOBER 


OcTosBER is the treasurer of the 
year, 
And all the months pay bounty 
to her store; 
The fields and orchards still their 
tribute bear, 
And fill her brimming coffers 
more and more. 
But she, with youthful lavishness, 


Spends all her wealth in gaudy 


dress, 
And decks herself in garments 
_ bold 
Of scarlet, purple, red, and 
gold. 


She heedeth not how swift the 
hours fly, 
But smiles and sings her happy 
life along; 
She only sees above a shining sky; 
She only hears the breezes’ voice 
in song. 
Her garments trail the woodlands 
through, 
And gather pearls of early dew 
That sparkle, till the roguish 
Sun 
Creeps up and steals them every 
one. 


But what cares she that jewels 
should be lost, 

When all of Nature’s bounte- 
ous wealth is hers? 
Though princely fortunes may 
have been their cost, 

Not one regret her calm de- 
meanor stirs. 
Whole-hearted, happy, 
free, 
She lives her life out joyously, 
Nor cares when Frost stalks o’er 
her way 
Aud turns her auburn locks to 
gray. 


careless, 


[ 63 ] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


A SUMMER’S NIGHT 


THE night is dewy as a maiden’s 
mouth, 
The skies are bright as are a 
maiden’s eyes, 
Soft as a maiden’s breath the 
wind that flies 
Up from the perfumed bosom of 


the South. 
Like sentinels, the pines stand in 
the park; 
And hither hastening, like rakes 
that roam, 


With lamps to light their way- 
ward footsteps home, 
The fireflies come stagg’ring down 
the dark. 


SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE 
NIGHT 


Out in the sky the great dark 
clouds are massing; 
I look far out into the pregnant 
night, 
Where I can hear a solemn boom- 
ing gun 
And catch the gleaming of a 
random light, 
That tells me that the ship I seek 
is passing, passing. 


My tearful eyes my soul’s deep 
hurt are glassing; 
For I would hail and check that 
ship of ships. 


[ 64 ] 


I stretch my hands imploring, cry 
aloud, 
My voice falls dead a foot from 
mine own lips, 
And but its ghost doth reach that 
vessel, passing, passing. 


O Earth, O Sky, O Ocean, both 
surpassing, ; 
O heart of mine, O soul that 
dreads the dark! 
Is there no hope for me? 
no way 
That I may sight and check that 
speeding bark 
Which out of sight and sound is 
passing, passing ? 


Is there 


THE DELINQUENT 


Goo’-By, Jinks, I got to hump, 

Got to mek dis pony jump; 

See dat sun a-goin’ down 

’N’ me a-foolin’ hyeah in town! 
Git up, Suke — go long! 


Guess Mirandy ’ll think I’s tight, 
Me not home an’ comin’ on night. 
What ’s dat stan’in’ by de fence? 
Pshaw! why don’t I lwn some 
sense ? 
Git up, Suke — go long! 


Guess I spent down dah at Jinks’ 
Mos’ a dollah fur de drinks. 

Bless yo’r soul, you see dat star? 
Lawd, but won’t Mirandy rar? 
Git up, Suke — go long! 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Went dis mo’nin’, hyeah it ’s night, 
Dah ’s de cabin dah in sight. 
Who’s dat stan’in’ in de do’? 
Dat must be Mirandy, sho’, 

Git up, Suke — go long! 


Got de close-stick in huh han’, 
Dat look funny, goodness lan’, 
Sakes alibe, but she look glum! 
'Hyeah, Mirandy, hyeah I come! 
Git up, Suke — go long! 


Ef ’t had n’t a’ b’en fur you, you 
slow ole fool, I’d a’ be’n home 
long fo’ now! 


DAWN 


AN angel, robed in spotless white, 

Bent down and kissed the sleeping 
Night. 

Night woke to blush; the sprite 
was gone. 

Men saw the blush and called it 
(Dawn. 


A DROWSY DAY 


THE air is dark, the sky is gray, 
The misty shadows come and 
go, 
And here within my dusky room 
Each chair looks ghostly in the 
gloom. 
Outside the rain falls cold and 
slow — 


Half-stinging drops, half-blinding 
spray. 


Each slightest sound is magnified, 
For drowsy quiet holds her 
reign; 
The burnt stick in the fireplace 
breaks, 
nodding cat 
awakes, 
And then to sleep drops off 
again, 
Unheeding Towser at her side. 


‘The with _ start 


I look far out across the lawn, 
Where huddled stand the silly 
sheep ; 
My work lies idle at my hands, 
My thoughts fly out like scattered 


strands 
Of thread, and on the verge of 
sleep — 
Still half awake—I dream and 
yawn. 


What spirits rise before my eyes! 
How various of kind and form! 
Sweet memories of days long past, 
The dreams of youth that could 
not last, 
Each smiling calm, each raging 
storm, 
That swept across my early skies. 


Half seen, the bare, gaunt-fingered 
boughs 
Before my window sweep and 
sway, 
And chafe in tortures of unrest. 


[ 65 ] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


My chin sinks down upon my 
breast ; 

I cannot work on such a day, 

But only sit and dream and 
drowse. 


DIRGE 


PLACE this bunch of mignonette 
In her cold, dead hand; 
When the golden sun is set, 
Where the poplars stand, 
Bury her from sun and day, 
Lay my little love away 
From my sight. 


She was like a modest flower 
Blown in sunny June, 
Warm as sun at noon’s high hour, 
Chaster than the moon. 
Ah, her day was brief and bright, 
Earth has lost a star of light; 
She is dead. 


Softly breathe her name to me,— 
Ah, I loved her so. 
Gentle let your tribute be; 
None may better know 
Her true worth than I who weep 
O’er her as she lies asleep — 
Soft asleep. 


Lay these lilies on her breast, 
They are not more white 

Than the soul of her, at rest 
"Neath their petals bright. 

Chant your aves soft and low, 


Solemn be your tread and slow,— 
She is dead. 


Lay her here beneath the grass, 
Cool and green and sweet, 

Where the gentle brook may pass 
Crooning at her feet. 

Nature’s bards shall come and 

sing, 
And the fairest flowers shall spring 
Where she lies. 


Safe above the water’s swirl, 
She has crossed the bar; 
Earth has lost a precious pearl, 
Heaven has gained a star, 
That shall ever sing and shine, 
Till it quells this grief of mine 
For my love. 


HYMN 


WHEN storms arise 
And dark’ning skies 
About me threat’ning lower, 
To thee, O Lord, I raise mine 
eyes, 
To thee my tortured spirit flies 
For solace in that hour. 


The mighty arm 
Will let no harm 
Come near me nor befall me; 
Thy voice shall quiet my alarm, 
When life’s great battle waxeth 
warm — 
No foeman shall appall me. 


[ 66 ] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Upon thy breast 
Secure I rest, 
From sorrow and vexation ; 
No more by sinful cares oppressed, 
But in thy presence ever blest, 
O God of my salvation. 


PREPARATION 


THE little bird sits in the nest and 
sings 
A shy, soft song to the morning 
light ; 
And it flutters a little and prunes 
its wings. 
The song is halting and poor 
and brief, 
And the fluttering wings: scarce 
stir a leaf; 
But the note is a prelude to 
sweeter things, 
And the busy bill and the flutter 
slight 
Are proving the wings for: a 
bolder flight! 


THE DESERTED PLAN- 
TATION 


Ou, de grubbin’-hoe ’s a-rustin’ in 
de co’nah, 
An’ de plow ’s a-tumblin’ down 
in de fiel’, 
While de whippo’will’s a-wailin’ 
‘lak a mou’nah 
When his stubbo’n hea’t is try- 
in’ ha’d to yiel’. 


In de furrers whah de co’n was 
allus wavin’, 

Now de weeds is growin’ green 
an’ rank an’ tall; 

An’ de swallers roun’ de whole 
place is a-bravin’ 

Lak dey thought deir folks had 

allus owned it all. 


An’ de big house stan’s all quiet 
lak an’ solemn, 
Not a blessed soul in pa’lor, 
po’ch, er lawn; 
Not a guest, ner not a ca’iage lef’ 
to haul ’em, 
Fu’ de ones dat tu’ned de latch- 
string out air gone. 


An’ de banjo’s voice is silent in de 
qua’ ters, 
D’ ain’t a hymn ner co’n-song 
ringin’ in de air; 
But de murmur of a branch’s pass- 
in’ waters 
Is de only soun’ dat breks de 
stillness dere. 


Whah’s de da’kies, dem dat used 
to be a-dancin’ 
Evry night befo’ de ole cabin 
do’? 
Whah’s de chillun, dem dat used 
to be a-prancin’ 


Er a-rollin’ in de san’ er on de 
flo’? 


Whah’s ole Uncle Mordecai an’ 
Uncle Aaron? 


[ 67 ] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Whah’s Aunt Doshy, Sam, an’ 
Kit, an’ all de res’? 
Whah’s ole Tom de da’ky fiddlah, 

how ’s he farin’? 
Whah’’s de gals dat used to sing 
an’ dance de bes’? 


Gone! not one o’ dem is lef’ to tell 
de story; 
Dey have lef’ de deah ole place 
to fall away. 
Could n’t one o’ dem dat seed it in 
its glory 
Stay to watch it in de hour of 
decay? 


Dey have lef’ de ole plantation to 
de swallers, 
But it hol’s in me a lover till de 
las’; 
Fw’ I fin’ hyeah in de memory dat 
follers 
All dat loved me an’ dat I loved 


in de pas. 


So I’ll stay an’ watch de deah ole 
place an’ tend it 
Ez I used to in de happy days 
gone by. 
*Twell de. othah Mastah thinks 
it’s time to end it, 
An’ calls me to my qua’ters in 


de sky. 


THE SECRET 


WHuat says the wind to the wav- 
ing trees? 
What says the wave to the 
river? 
What means the sigh in the passing 
breeze? 
Why do the rushes quiver? 
Have you not heard the fainting 
cry 
Of the flowers that said ‘“ Good- 
bye, good-bye”? 


List how the gray dove moans and 
grieves 
Under the woodland cover; 
List to the drift of the falling 
leaves, 
List to the wail of the lover. 
Have you not caught the message 
heard 
Already by wave and breeze and 
bird? 


Come, come away to the river’s 
bank, 
Come in the early morning; 
Come when the grass with dew is 


dank, 
There you will find the warn- 
ing — 
A hint in the kiss of the quicken- 
ing air 
Of the secret that birds and 


breezes bear. 


[ 68 ] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


THE WIND AND THE 
SEA 


I stoop by the shore at the death 
of day, 
As the sun sank flaming red; 
And the face of the waters that 
spread away 
Was as gray as the face of the 
dead. 


And I heard the cry of the wan- 
ton sea 
And the moan of the wailing 
wind ; 
For love’s sweet pain in his heart 
had he, 
But the gray old sea had sinned. 


The wind was young and the sea 
was old, 
But their cries went up to- 
gether ; 
The wind was warm and the sea 
was cold, 
For age makes wintry weather. 


So they cried aloud and they wept 
amain, 
Till the sky grew dark to hear 
1; 
And out of its folds crept the misty 
rain, 
In its shroud, like a troubled 
spirit. 


For the wind was wild with a 
hopeless love, 
And the sea was sad at heart 


At many a crime that he wot of, 
Wherein he had played his part. 


He thought of the gallant ships 
gone down 

By the will of his wicked waves; 

And he thought how the church- 

yard in the town 

Held the sea-made 


graves. 


widows’ 


The wild wind thought of the love 
he had left 
Afar in an Eastern land, 
And he longed, as long the much 
bereft, 
For the touch of her perfumed 
hand. 


In his winding wail and his deep- 
heaved sigh 
His aching grief found vent; 
While the sea looked up at the 
bending sky 
And murmured: “TI repent.” 


But e’en as he spoke, a ship came 


by, 
That bravely ploughed the 
main, 
And a light came into the sea’s 
green eye, 


And his heart grew hard again. 


Then he spoke to the wind: 
“Friend, seest thou not 
Yon vessel is eastward bound? 
Pray speed with it to the happy 
spot 


[ 69 ] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Where thy loved one may be | 


found.” 


And the wind rose up in a dear 
delight, 
And after the good ship sped; 
But the crafty sea by his wicked 
might 
Kept the vessel ever ahead. 


Till the wind grew fierce in his 
despair, 
And white on the brow and lip. 
He tore his garments and tore his 
hair, 


And fell on the flying ship. 


And the ship went down, for a 
rock was there, 
And the sailless sea loomed 
black; 
While burdened again with dole 
and care, 
The wind came moaning back. 


And still he moans from his bosom 
hot 
Where his raging grief lies pent, 
And ever when the ships come not, 
The sea says: “‘ I repent.” 


RIDING TO TOWN 


WHEN labor is light and the 
morning is fair, 

I find it a pleasure beyond all 
compare 


To hitch up my nag and go hur- 
rying down 
And take Katie May for a ride 
into town; 
bumpety-bump goes 
wagon, 
But tra-la-la-la our lay. 
There ’s joy in a song as we rattle 
along 
In the light of the glorious day. 


For the 


A coach would be fine, but a. 
spring wagon’s good; 
My jeans are a match for Kate's 
gingham and hood; 
The hills take us up and the vales 
take us down, 
But what matters that? we are 
riding to town, 
And bumpety-bump goes the 
wagon, 
But tra-la-la-la sing we. 
There ’s never a care may live in 
the air 
That is filled with the breath 


of our glee. 


And after we’ve started, there ’s 
naught can repress 

The thrill of our hearts in their 
wild happiness ; 

The heavens may smile or the 
heavens may frown, 

And it’s all one to us when we ’re 

riding to town. 

bumpety-bump goes 

wagon, 

But tra-la-la-la we shout, 


For the 


[70] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


For our hearts they are clear and 
there ’s nothing to fear, 
And we’ve never a pain nor a 


doubt. 


The wagon is weak and the road- 
Way is rough, 
And tho’ it is long it is not long 
enough, 
For mid all my ecstasies this is the 
crown 
To sit beside Katie and ride into 
town, 
When bumpety-bump goes the 
wagon, 
But tra-la-la-la our song; 
And if I had my way, I'd be will- 
ing to pay 
If the road could be made twice 
as long. 


WE WEAR THE MASK 


WE wear the mask that grins and 
lies, 

It hides our cheeks and shades our 
eyes,— 

This debt we pay to human guile; 

With torn and bleeding hearts we 
smile, 

And mouth with myriad subtle- 
ties. 


Why should the world be over- 
wise, 

In counting all our tears and 
sighs? 


Nay, let them only see us, while 
We wear the mask. 


We smile, but, O great Christ, 
our cries 
To thee from tortured souls arise. 
We sing, but oh the clay is vile 
Beneath our feet, and long the 
mile ; 
But let the world dream other- 
wise, 
We wear the mask! 


THE MEADOW LARK 


THOUGH the winds be dank, 
And the sky be sober, 
And the grieving Day 
In a mantle gray 
Hath let her waiting maiden 
robe her,— 
' All the fields along 
I can hear the song 
Of the meadow lark, 
As she flits and flutters, 
And laughs at the thunder 
when it mutters. 
O happy bird, of heart most 
gay 
To sing when skies are gray! 


When the clouds are full, 
And the tempest master 
Lets the loud winds sweep 
From his bosom deep 
Like heralds of some dire disas- 
ter, 


War 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Then the heart alone 
To itself makes moan; 
And the songs come slow, 

While the tears fall fleeter, 

And silence than song by far 
seems sweeter. 

Oh, few are they along the 
way 

Who sing when skies are 
gray | 


ONE LIFE 


Ou, I am hurt to death, my 
Love; 
The shafts of Fate have pierced 
- my striving heart, 
And I am sick and weary of 
The endless pain and smart. 
My soul is weary of the strife, 
And chafes at life, and chafes at 
life. 


Time mocks me with fair prom- 
iSes } 
A blooming future grows a bar- 
ren past, 
Like rain my fair full-blossomed 
trees 
Unburden in the blast. 
The harvest fails on grain and 
tree, 
Nor comes to me, nor comes to 
me. 


The stream that bears my hopes 
abreast 


Turns ever from my way its 
pregnant tide. 
My laden boat, torn from its rest, 
Drifts to the other side. 
So all my hopes are set astray, 
And drift away, and drift away. 


The lark sings to me at the morn, 
And near me wings her sky- 
ward-soaring flight; 

But pleasure dies as soon as born, 
The owl takes up the night, 
And night seems long and doubly 

3 dark; 
I miss the lark, I miss the lark. 


Let others labor as they may, 
I'll sing and sigh alone, and 
write my line. 
Their fate is theirs, or grave or 
gay, 
And mine shall still be mine. 
I know the world holds joy and 
glee, 
But not for me,—’t is not for me. 


CHANGING TIME 


Tue cloud looked in at the win- 
dow, 
And said to the day, “ Be dark! ” 
And the roguish rain tapped hard 
on the pane, 
To stifle the song of the lark. 


The wind sprang up in the tree 
tops 


wey 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


\and shrieked with a voice of 
death, 
But the rough-voiced breeze, that 
shook the trees, 
Was touched with a violet’s 


breath. 
DEAD 
A KNOCK is at her door, but she 
is weak; 
Strange dews have washed the 
paint streaks from her 
cheek ; 


She does not rise, but, ah, this 


friend is known, 

And knows that he will find her 
all alone. 

So opens he the door, and with 

| soft tread 

Goes straightway to the richly 
curtained bed. 

His soft hand on her dewy head 
he lays. 

A strange white light she gives 
him for his gaze. 

Then, looking on the glory of her 
charms, 

He crushes her resistless in his 

arms, 


Stand back! look not upon this 
bold embrace, 

Nor view the calmness of the 
wanton’s face; 

With joy unspeakable and ’bated 
breath, 


She keeps her last, long liaison 
with death! 


A CONFIDENCE 


UncLeE Joun, he makes me tired; 

Thinks ’at he’s jest so all-fired 

Smart, ’at he kin pick up, so, 

Ever’thing he wants to know. 

Tried to ketch me up last night, 

But you bet I would n’t bite. 

I jest kep’ the smoothes’ face, 

But I led him sich a chase, 

Could n’t corner me, you bet— 

I skipped all the traps he set. 

Makin’ out he wan’ed to know 

Who was this an’ that girl’s beau; 

So’s he’d find out, don’t you see, 

Who was goin’ ’long with me. 

But I answers jest ez sly, 

An’ I never winks my eye, 

Tell: he hollers with a whirl, 

“ Look here, ain’t you got a girl?” 

Y’ ought ’o seen me spread my 
eyes, 

Like he ’d took me by surprise, 

An’ I said, “Oh, Uncle John, 

Never thought o’ havin’ one.” 

An’ somehow that seemed to tickle 

Him an’ he shelled out a nickel. 

Then you ought to seen me leave 

Jest a-laffin’ in my sleeve. 

Fool him — well, I guess I did; 

He ain’t on to this here kid. 

Got a girl! well, I guess yes, 

Got a dozen more or less, 

But I got one reely one, 


[ 73 ] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Not no foolin’ ner no fun; 

Fur I’m sweet on her, you see, 

An’ I ruther guess ’at she 

Must be kinder sweet on me, 

So we’re keepin’ company. 

Honest Injun! this is true, 

Ever’ word I’m tellin’ you! 

But you won’t be sich a scab 

Ez to run aroun’ an’ blab. 

Mebbe ’t ain’t the way with you, 

But you know some fellers do. 

Spoils a girl to let her know 

"At you talk about her so. 

Don’t you know her? her name’s 
Liz, 

Nicest girl in town she is. 

Purty? ah, git out, you gilly — 

Liz ’ud purt ’nigh knock you silly. 

Y’ ought ’o see her when she’s 
dressed 

All up in her Sunday best, 

All the fellers nudgin’ me, 

An’ a-whisperin’, gemunee! 

Betcher life ’at I feel proud 

When she passes by the crowd. 

’T ’s kinder nice to be a-goin’ 

With a girl ’at makes some show- 
in’— 

One you know ’at hain’t no snide, 

Makes you feel so satisfied. 

An’ I'll tell you she’s a trump, 

Never even seen her jump 

Like some silly girls ’ud do, 

When I ’d hide and holler “ Boo!” 

She ’d jest laff an’ say “ Git out! 

What you hollerin’ about?” 

When some girls ’ud have a fit 


That ’un don’t git skeered a bit, 

Never makes a bit 0’ row 

When she sees a worm er cow. 

Them kind ’s few an’ far between; 

Bravest girl I ever seen. 

Tell you ’nuther thing she Il do, 

Mebbe you won’t think it’s true, 

But if she’s jest got a dime 

She ’ll go halvers ever’ time. 

Ah, you goose, you need n’t laff; 

‘That ’s the kinder girl to have. 

If you knowed her like I do, 

Guess you ’d kinder like her too. 

Tell you somep’n’ if you ll swear 

You won’t tell it anywhere. 

Oh, you got to cross yer heart 

Earnest, truly, "fore I start. 

Well, one day I kissed her cheek; 

Gee, but I felt cheap an’ weak, 

"Cause at first she kinder flared, 

"N’, gracious goodness! I was 
scared. | 

But I need n’t been, fer la! 

Why, she never told her ma. 

That’s what I call grit, don’t 
you? 

Sich a girl’s worth stickin’ to. 


PHYLLIS 


PuHYLuIs, ah, Phyllis, my life is a 
gray day, 
Few are my years, but my griefs 
are not few, 
Ever to youth should each day be 
a May-day, 


[74] 








x PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Warm wind and rose-breath and 
diamonded dew — 
Phyllis, ah, Phyllis, my life is a 

gray day. 


Oh for the sunlight that shines on 
| a May-day! 
Only the cloud hangeth over 
my life. 
Love that should bring me youth’s 
happiest heyday 
- Brings me but seasons of sor- 
row and strife; 
Phyllis, ah, Phyllis, my life is a 
gray day. 


Sunshine or shadow, or gold day 
or gray day, 
Life must be lived as our des- 
tinies rule; 
Leisure or labor or work day or 
play day — 
Feasts for the famous and fun 
for the fool; 
Phyllis, ah, Phyllis, my life is a 
gray day. 


RIGHT’S SECURITY 


Wuat if the wind do howl with- 
out, 

And turn the creaking weather- 
vane; 

What if the arrows of the rain 

Do beat against the window-pane? 

Art thou not armored strong and 
fast 


Against the sallies of the blast? 

Art thou not sheltered safe and 
well 

Against the flood’s insistent swell? 


What boots it, that thou stand’st 
alone, 

And laughest in the battle’s face 

When all the weak have fled the 
place 

And let their feet and fears keep 
pace? 

Thou wavest still thine ensign, 
high, 

And shoutest thy loud battle-cry; 

Higher than e’er the tempest 
roared, 

It cleaves the silence like a sword. 


Right arms and armors, too, that 
man 

iWho will not compromise with 
wrong; 

Though single, he must front the 
throng, 

And wage the battle hard and 
long. 

Minorities, since time began, 

Have shown the better side of 
man; | 

And often in the lists of Time 

One man has made a cause sub- 
lime! 


IF 


Tr life were but a dream, my Love, 
And death the waking time; 


[75] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


If day had not a beam, my Love, 
And night had not a rhyme,— 
A barren, barren world were 
this 
Without one saving gleam; 
I’d only ask that with a kiss 
You’d wake me from the 
dream. 


If dreaming were the sum of 
days, 
And loving were the bane; 
If battling for a wreath of bays 
Could soothe a heart in pain,— 
I’d scorn the meed of battle’s 
might, 
All other aims above 
I ’d choose the human’s higher 
right, 
To suffer and to love! 


THE SONG 


My soul, lost in the music’s mist, 

Roamed, rapt, ’neath skies of ame- 
thyst. 

The cheerless streets grew summer 
meads, 

The Son of Phcebus spurred his 
steeds, 

And, wand’ring down the mazy 
tune, 

December lost its way in June, 

While from a verdant vale I 
heard 

The piping of a love-lorn bird. 


A something in the tender strain 

Revived an old, long-conquered 
pain, 

And as in depths of many seas, 

My heart was drowned in mem- 
ories. 

The tears came welling to my 
eyes, 

Nor could I ask it otherwise; 

For, oh! a sweetness seems to 
last 

Amid the dregs of sorrows past. 


It stirred a chord that here of 


late 

I’d grown to think could not vi- 
brate. 

It brought me back the trust of 
youth, 

The world again was joy and 
truth. 

And Avice, blooming like a 
bride, 

Once more stood trusting at my 
side. 


But still, with bosom desolate, 
The ’lorn bird sang to find his 
mate. 


Then there are trees, and lights 
and stars, 

The silv’ry tinkle of guitars; 

And throbs again as throbbed that 
waltz, 

Before I knew that hearts were 
false. 

Then like a cold wave on a shore, 


[76 ] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Comes silence and she sings no 
more. | 

I wake, I breathe, I think again, 

And walk the sordid ways of men. 


SIGNS OF THE TIMES 


Air a-gittin’ cool an’ coolah, 
Frost a-comin’ in de night, 
Hicka’ nuts an’ wa’nuts fallin’, 
Possum keepin’ out o’ sight. 
Tukey struttin’ in de ba’nya’d, 
Nary step so proud ez his; 
Keep on struttin’, Mistah Tu’key, 
Yo’ do’ know whut time it is. 


Cidah press commence a-squeakin’ 
Eatin’ apples sto’ed away, 
Chillun swa’min’ ’roun’ lak ho’- 
nets, 
Huntin’ aigs ermung de hay. 
Mistah Tu’key keep on gobblin’ 
At de geese a-flyin’ souf, 
Oomph! dat bird do’ know whut’s 
comin’; 


Ef he did he’d shet his mouf. 


Pumpkin gittin’ good an’ yallah 
Mek me open up my eyes; 
Seems lak it’s a-lookin’ at me 
Jes’ a-la’in’ dah sayin’ “ Pies.” 
Tukey gobbler gwine ’roun’ blow- 
in’, 
Gwine ’roun’ gibbin’ sass an’ 
slack ; 
Keep on talkin’, Mistah Tu’key, 
You ain’t seed no almanac. 


Fa’mer walkin’ th’oo de ba’nya’d 
Seein’ how things is comin’ on, 
Sees ef all de fowls is fatt’nin’ — 
Good times comin’ sho’s you 
bo’n. 
Hyeahs dat tu’key gobbler brag- 
gin’, 
Den his face break in a smile — 
Nebbah min’, you sassy rascal, 
He’s gwine nab you atter while. 


Choppin’ suet in de kitchen, 
Stonin’ raisins in de hall, 

Beef a-cookin’ fu’ de mince meat, 
Spices groun’—I smell ’em all. 


Look hyeah, Tu’key, stop dat 
gobblin’, 
You ain’ luned de sense ob 


feah, 
You ol’ fool, yo’ naik ’s in dangah, 
Do’ you know Thanksgibbin ’s 
hyeah ? 


WHY FADES A DREAM? 


Whuy fades a dream? 
An iridescent ray 
Flecked in between the tryst 
Of night and day. 
Why fades a dream? — 
Of consciousness the shade 
Wrought out by lack of light and 
made 
Upon life’s stream. 
Why fades a dream? 


That thought may thrive, 
So fades the fleshless dream; 


C77 J 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Lest men ‘should learn to trust 
The things that seem. 
So fades a dream, 
That living thought may grow 
And like a waxing star-beam glow 
Upon life’s stream — 
So fades a dream. 


THE SPARROW 


A .LtTTLe bird, with plumage 
brown, 

Beside my window flutters down, 
A moment chirps its little strain, 
Ten taps upon my window-pane, 
And chirps again, and hops along, 
To call my notice to its song; 
But I work on, nor heed its lay, 
Till, in neglect, it flies away. 


So birds of peace and hope and 
love 

Come fluttering earthward from 
above, 

To settle on life’s window-sills, 

And ease our load of earthly ills; 

But we, in traffic’s rush and din 

Too deep engaged to let them in, 

With deadened heart and sense 
plod on, 

‘Nor know our loss till they are 
gone. 


SPEAKIN’ O’ CHRISTMAS 


BREEZES blowin’ middlin’ brisk, 
Snow-flakes thro’ the air a-whisk, 
Fallin’ kind o’ soft an’ light, 


Not enough to make things white, 

But jest sorter siftin’ down 

So ’s to cover up the brown 

Of the dark world’s rugged ways 

"N’ make things look like holidays. 

Not smoothed over, but jest 
specked, 

Sorter strainin’ fur effect, 

An’ not quite a-gittin’ through 

What it started in to do. 

Mercy sakes! it does seem queer 

Christmas day is ’most nigh here. 

Somehow it don’t seem to me 

Christmas like it used to be,— 

Christmas with its ice an’ snow, 

Christmas of the long ago. 

You could feel its stir an’ hum 

Weeks an’ weeks before it come; 

Somethin’ in the atmosphere 

‘Told you when the day was near, 

Did n’t need no almanacs; 

That was one o’ Nature’s fac’s. 

Every cottage decked out gay — 

Cedar wreaths an’ holly spray — 

An’ the stores, how they were 
drest, 

Tinsel tell you could n’t rest; 

Every winder fixed up pat, 

Candy canes, an’ things like that; 

Noah’s arks, an’ guns, an’ dolls, 

An’ all kinds o’ fol-de-rols. 

Then with frosty bells a-chime, 

Slidin’ down the hills o’ time, 

Right amidst the fun an’ din 

Christmas come a-bustlin’ in, 

Raised his cheery voice to call 

Out a welcome to us all; 


[ 78 ] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Hale and hearty, strong an’ bluff, 
That was Christmas, sure enough. 
Snow knee-deep an’ coastin’ fine, 
Frozen mill-ponds all ashine, 
Seemin’ jest to lay in wait, 
Beggin’ you to come an’ skate. 
An’ youd git your gal an’ go 
Stumpin’ cheerily thro’ the snow, 
Feelin’ pleased an’ skeert an’ 
warm 
’Cause she had a-holt yore arm. 
Why, when Christmas come in, 
we 
Spent the whole glad day in glee, 
Havin’ fun an’ feastin’ high 
An’ some courtin’ on the sly. 
Bustin’ in some neighbor’s door 
An’ then suddenly, before 
He could give his voice a lift, 
Yellin’ at him, “ Christmas gift.” 
Now sich things are never heard, 
“Merry Christmas” is the word. 
But it’s only change o’ name, 
An’ means givin’ jest the same. 
There ’s too many new-styled ways 
Now about the holidays. 
Id jest like once more to see 
Christmas like it used to be! 


LONESOME 


MorTHER ’s gone a-visitin’ to spend 
a month er two, 

An’, oh, the house is lonesome ez a 
nest whose birds has flew 

To other trees to build ag’in; the 
rooms seem jest so bare 


That the echoes run like sperrits 
from the kitchen to the 
stair. 

The shetters flap more lazy-like 
’n what they used to do, 
Sence mother’s gone a-visitin’ to 
spend a month er two. 


We've killed the fattest chicken 
an’ we've cooked her to a 
turn ; 

We’ve made the richest gravy, 
but I jest don’t give a durn 

Fur nothin’ ’at I drink er eat, er 
nothin’ ’at I see. 

The food ain’t got the pleasant 
taste it used to have to me. 
They ’s somep’n’ stickin’? in my 
throat ez tight ez hardened 

glue, 

Sence mother’s gone a-visitin’ to 
spend a month er two. 


The hollyhocks air jest ez pink, 
they ’re double ones at that, 

An’ I wuz prouder of ’em than a 
baby of a cat. 

But now I don’t go near ’em, 
though they nod an’ blush at 
me, 

Fur they ’s somep’n’ seems to gall 
me in their keerless sort 0’ 
glee 

An’ all their fren’ly noddin’ an’ 
their blushin’ seems to say: 

“You’re purty lonesome, John, 
old boy, sence mother’s gone 
away.” 


[79] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


The neighbors ain’t so fren’ly ez it 
seems they ’d ort to be; 
They seem to be a-lookin’ kinder 

sideways like at me, 
A-kinder feared they’d tech me 
off ez ef I wuz a match, 

An’ all because ’at mother’s gone 
an’ I’m a-keepin’ batch! 
I’m shore I don’t do nothin’ 

worse ’n what I used to do 
’Fore mother went a-visitin’ to 
spend a month er two. 


The sparrers ac’s more fearsome 
like an’ won’t hop quite so 
near, 

The cricket’s chirp is sadder, an’ 
the sky ain’t ha’f so clear; 

When ev’nin’ comes, I set an’ 
smoke tell my eyes begin to 
swim, 

An’ things aroun’ commence to 
look all blurred an’ faint an’ 
dim. 

Well, I guess I ll have to own up 
’at I’m feelin’ purty blue 
Sence mother’s gone a-visitin’ to 

spend a month er two. 


GROWIN’ GRAY 


HEL1o, ole man, you’re a-gittin’ 
gray, 

An’ it beats ole Ned to see the 
way 

*At the crow’s feet’s a-getherin’ 
aroun’ yore eyes; 


Tho’ it ought n’t to cause me no 
su prise, 

Fur there ’s many a sun ’at you ’ve 
seen rise 

An’ many a one you’ve seen go 
down 

Sence yore step was light an’ yore 
hair was brown, 

An’ storms an’ snows have had 
their way — 

Hello, ole man, you’re a-gittin’ 
gray. : 


Hello, ole man, you’re a-gittin’ 
gray, 

An’ the youthful pranks ’at you 
used to play 

Are dreams of a far past long ago 

That lie in a heart where the fires 
burn low — 

That has lost the flame though it 
kept the glow, 

An’ spite of drivin’ snow an’ storm, 

Beats bravely on forever warm. 

December holds the place of 
May — 

Hello, ole man, you’re a-gittin’ 
gray. 


Hello, ole man, you’re a-gittin’ 
gray—- 

Who cares what the carpin’ young- 
sters say? 

For, after all, when the tale is told, 

Love proves if a man is young or 
old! 

Old age can’t make the heart grow 
cold 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


When it does the will of an honest 
mind ; 

When it beats with love fur all 
mankind ; 

Then the night but leads to a fairer 
day — 

Hello, ole man, you’re a-gittin’ 
gray! 


TO THE MEMORY OF 
MARY YOUNG 


Gop has his plans, and what if we 
With our sight be too blind to see 
Their full fruition; cannot he, 

Who made it, solve the mystery? 
One whom we loved has fall’n 


asleep, 

Not died; although her calm be 
deep, 

Some new, unknown, and strange 
surprise 


In Heaven holds enrapt her eyes. 


And can you blame her that her 
gaze 

Is turned away from earthly ways, 

When to her eyes God’s light and 
love 

Have giv’n the view of things 
above? 

A gentle spirit sweetly good, 

The pearl of precious womanhood ; 

Who heard the voice of duty 
clear, 

And found her mission soon and 
near. 


She loved all nature, flowers fair, 

‘The warmth of sun, the kiss of air, 

The birds that filled the sky with 
song, 

The stream that laughed its way 
along. 

Her home to her was shrine and 
throne, 

But one love held her not alone; 

She sought out poverty and grief, 

Who touched her robe and found 
relief. 

So sped she in her Master’s 
work, 

‘Too busy and too brave to shirk, 

When through the silence, dusk 
and dim, 

God called her and she fled to him. 

We wonder at the early call, 

And tears of sorrow can but fall 

For her o’er whom we spread the 
pall; 

But faith, sweet faith, is over 


all. 


The house is dust, the voice is 
dumb, 

But through undying years to 
come, 

The spark that glowed within her 
soul 

Shall light our footsteps to the 
goal. 

She went her way; but oh, she 
trod 

The path that led her straight to 
God. 


[81] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


‘Such lives as this put death to 
scorn ; 
They lose our day to find God’s 


morn. 


WHEN MALINDY SINGS 


G way an’ quit dat noise, Miss 
Lucy — 
Put dat music book away; 
‘What ’s de use to keep on tryin’? 
Ef you practise twell you’re 
gray, 
You cain’t sta’t no notes a-flyin’ 
Lak de ones dat rants and rings 
F’om de kitchen to be big woods 
When Malindy sings. 


You ain’t got de nachel o’gans 
Fw’ to make de soun’ come right, 
You ain’t got de tu’ns an’ twistin’s 
Fu’ to make it sweet an’ light. 
Tell you one thing now, Miss 
Lucy, 
An’ I’m tellin’ you fu’ true, 
When hit comes to raal right 
singin’, 
*T ain’t no easy thing to do. 


Easy ’nough fu’ folks to hollah, 
Lookin’ at de lines an’ dots, 
When dey ain’t no one kin sence it, 

An’ de chune comes in, in spots; 
But fu’ real melojous music, 
Dat jes’ strikes yo’ hea’t and 
clings, 
Jes’ you stan’ an’ listen wif me 


When Malindy sings. 


Ain’t you nevah hyeahd Malindy? 
Blessed soul, tek up de cross! 
Look hyeah, ain’t you jokin’, 

honey? 
Well, you don’t know whut you 
los’. 
Y’ ought to hyeah dat gal a-wa’b- 
lin’, 
Robins, la’ks, an’ all dem things, 
Heish dey moufs an’ hides dey 
faces 


When Malindy sings. 


Fiddlin’ man jes’ stop his fiddlin’, 
Lay his fiddle on de she’f; 
Mockin’-bird quit tryin’ to whistle, 
’Cause he jes’ so shamed hisse’f. 
Folks a-playin’ on de banjo 


Draps dey fingahs on de 
strings — 
Bless yo’ soul — fu’gits to move 
em, 


When Malindy sings. 


She jes’ spreads huh mouf and hol- 
lahs, 
“Come to Jesus,” twell you 
hyeah 
Sinnahs’ tremblin’ steps and voices, 
Timid-lak a-drawin’ neah; 
Den she tu’ns to “‘ Rock of Ages,” 
Simply to de cross she clings, 
An’ you fin’ yo’ teahs a-drappin’ 
When Malindy sings. 


Who dat says dat humble praises 
Wif de Master nevah counts? 


[82] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Heish yo’ mouf, I hyeah dat music, 
Ez hit rises up an’ mounts — 

Floatin’ by de hills an’ valleys, 
Way above dis buryin’ sod, 

Ez hit makes its way in glory 
To de very gates of God! 


Oh, hit ’s sweetah dan de music 
Of an edicated band; 

An’ hit’s dearah dan de battle’s 
Song o’ triumph in de lan’. 

It seems holier dan evenin’ 
When de solemn chu’ch bell 

rings, 

Ez I sit an’ ca’mly listen 

While Malindy sings. 


Towsah, stop dat ba’kin’, hyeah 
me! 
Mandy, mek dat chile keep still; 
Don’t you hyeah de echoes callin’ 
F’om de valley to de hill? 
Let me listen, I can hyeah it, 
Th’oo de bresh of angels’ wings, 
Sof? an’ sweet, “Swing Low, 
Sweet Chariot,” 
Ez Malindy sings. 


iwHE, PARTY 
Dry had a gread big  pahty 
down to Tom’s de _ othah 
night ; 
Was I dah? You bet! I nevah 


in my life see sich a sight; 
All de folks f’om fou’ plantations 
was invited, an’ dey come, 


Dey come troopin’ thick ez chillun 
when dey hyeahs a fife an’ 


drum. 

Evahbody: dressed deir fines’— 
Heish yo’ mouf an’ git 
away, 


Ain’t seen no sich fancy dressin’ 
sence las’ quah’tly meetin’ 
day ; 

Gals all dressed in silks an’ satins, 
not a wrinkle ner a crease, 

Eyes a-battin’, teeth a-shinin’, haih 
breshed back ez slick ez 
grease ; 

Sku’ts all tucked an’ puffed an’ 
ruffled, evah blessed seam an’ 
stitch ; 

Ef you’d seen ’em wif deir mistus, 
could n’t swahed to which 
was which. 

Men all dressed up in Prince Al- 
berts, swaller-tails ’u’d tek yo’ 
bref ! 

I cain’t tell you nothin’ ’bout it, 
y ought to seen it fu’ yo’se’f. 


Who was dah? Now who you 


askin’? How you ’spect I 
gwine to know? 
You mus’ think I stood an’ 


counted evahbody at de do.’ 
Ole man Babah’s house-boy Isaac, 
brung dat gal, Malindy Jane, 
Huh a-hangin’ to his elbow, him 
a-struttin’ wif a cane; 
My, but Hahvey Jones was jeal- 
ous! seemed to stick him lak 
a tho’n; 


[ 83 ] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


But he laughed with Viney Cah- 
teh, tryin’ ha’d to not let on, 

But a pusson would ’a’ noticed 
fom de d’rection of his look, 

Dat he was watchin’ ev’ry step dat 
Ike an’ Lindy took. 

Ike he foun’ a cheer an’ asked huh: 

“Won't you set down?” wif 

a smile, 

she answe’d up  a-bowin’, 

“Oh, I reckon ’t ain’t wuth 

while.” 

Dat was jes’ fu’ style, I reckon, 
‘cause she sot down jes’ de 
same, 

An’ she stayed dah ’twell he 
fetched huh fu’ to jine some 
so't 0 game; 

Den I hyeahd huh sayin’ propah, 
ez she riz to go away, 

“Oh, you raly mus’ excuse me, 
fu’ I hardly keers to play.” 

But I seen huh in a minute wif de 
othahs on de flo’, 

An’ dah wasn’t any one o’ dem 
a-playin’ any mo’; 

Comin’ down de flo’ a-bowin’ an’ 
a-swayin’ an’ a-swingin’, 
Puttin’ on huh high-toned man- 
nahs all de time dat she was 

singin’: 

“Oh, swing Johnny up an’ down, 
swing him all aroun’, 

Swing Johnny up an’ down, swing 
him all aroun’, 

Oh, swing Johnny up an’ down, 
swing him all aroun’ 


An’ 


Fa’ you well, my dahlin’.” 


Had to laff at ole man Johnson, 


he ’s a caution now, you bet — 

Hittin’ clost onto a hunderd, but 
he’s spry an’ nimble yet; 

He lowed how a-so’t o’ gigglin’, 
““T ain’t ole, I ll let you see, 

D’ain’t no use in gittin’ feeble, now 
you youngstahs jes’ watch 
me,” 

An’ he grabbed ole Aunt Marier 
— weighs th’ee hunderd mo’ 
er less, 

An’ he spun huh ’roun’ de cabin 
swingin’ Johnny lak de res’. 

Evahbody laffed an’ hollahed: 
“Go it! Swing huh, Uncle 
Jim!” 

An’ he swung huh too, I reckon, 
lak a youngstah, who but 
him. 

Dat was bettah’n young Scott 
Thomas, tryin’ to be so awful 
smaht. 

You know when dey gits to singin’ 
an’ dey comes to dat ere paht: 

“In some lady’s new brick 
house, 
In some lady’s gyahden. 
Ef you don’t let me out, I 
will jump out, 
So fa’ you well, my dahlin’.” 

Den dey ’s got a circle ’roun’ you, 
an’ you’s got to break de 
line ; 

Well, dat dahky was so anxious, 
lak to bust hisse’f a-tryin’; 


[ 84 ] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


*roun’ an’ 
foolin’ ’twell he giv’ one 
gread big jump, 

Broke de line, an lit head-fo’most 
in de fiah-place right plump; 

Hit ’ad fiah in it, mind you; well, 
I thought my soul Id bust, 

Tried my best to keep f’om laffin’, 
but hit seemed like die I 
must! 

Y’ ought to seen dat man a-scram- 

blin’ fom de ashes an’ de 

grime. 

Did it bu’n him! Sich a question, 
why he did n’t give it time; 

Th’ow’d dem ashes and dem cin- 
dahs evah which-a-way I 
guess, 

An’ you nevah did, I reckon, clap 
yo’ eyes on sich a mess; 

Fu’ he sholy made a picter an’ a 
funny one to boot, 

Wif his clothes all full o’ ashes 
an’ his face all full o’ soot. 

Well, hit laked to stopped de 
pahty, an’ I reckon lak ez 
not 

Dat it would ef Tom’s wife, 
Mandy, had n’t happened on 
de spot, 

To invite us out to suppah — well, 
we scrambled to de table, 

An’ I'd lak to tell you bout it — 
what we had — but I ain’t 
able, 

Mention jes’ a few things, dough 
I know I had n’t orter, 


on blund’rin’ 


Kep’ 


a 


Fw’ I know ’t will staht a hank’rin’ 
an’ yo’ mouf’ll ’mence to 
worter. 

We had wheat bread white ez cot- 
ton an’ a egg pone jes like 
gol’, 

Hog jole, bilin’ hot an’ steamin’ 
roasted shoat an’ ham sliced 


cold — 

Look out! What ’s de mattah wif 
you? Don’t be fallin’ on de 
flo’ ; 


Ef it’s go’n’ to ’fect you dat way, 
I won’t tell you nothin’ 
mo’. 

Dah now —well, we had _ hot 
chittlin’s — now you’s tryin’ 
ag’in to fall, 

Cain’t you stan’ to hyeah about it ? 
S’pose you’d been an’ seed it 
all ; 

Seed dem gread big sweet pertaters, 
layin’ by de possum’s side, 

Seed dat coon in all his gravy, 
reckon den you’d up and 
died! 

Mandy ‘lowed “you all mus’ 
’scuse me, d’ wa’n’t much 
upon my she’ves, 

But I’s done my bes’ to suit you, 
so set down an hep 
yo’se’ves.”’ 

Tom, he ‘lowed: ‘I don’t b’lieve 
in ’pologisin’ an’ perfessin’, 

Let ’em tek it lak dey ketch it. 
Eldah Thompson, ask de 
blessin’.”’ 


2 Lae | 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Wish you’d seed dat colo’ed 
preachah cleah his th’oat an’ 
bow his head; 

One eye shet, an’ one eye open,— 
dis is evah wud he said: 


“Lawd, look down in tendah 
mussy on sich generous hea’ts 
ez dese; 

Make us truly thankful, amen. 
Pass dat possum, ef you 
please!” 


Well, we eat and drunk ouah 
po’tion, ’twell dah wasn’t 
nothin’ lef, 

An’ we felt jes’ like new sausage, 
we was mos’ nigh stuffed to 
def! 

Tom, he knowed how we’d be 


feelin’, so he had de fiddlah 


’roun’, 

An’ he made us cleah de cabin 
fu’ to dance dat suppah 
down. 


Jim, de fiddlah, chuned his fiddle, 
put some rosum on_his 
bow, 

Set a pine box on de table, mounted 
it an’ let huh go! 

He’s a fiddlah, now I tell you, an’ 
he made dat fiddle ring, 

"T well de ol’est an’ de lamest had 
to give deir feet a fling. 


Jigs, cotillions, reels an’ break- 
downs, cordrills an’ a waltz 
er two; 

Bless yo’ soul, dat music winged 
"em an’ dem people lak to 
flew. 

Cripple Joe, de old rheumatic, 
danced dat flo’ f’om side to 
middle, 

Th’owed away his crutch an’ 
hopped it; what’s rheumatics 
*ginst a fiddle? 

Eldah Thompson got so tickled 
dat he lak to los’ his grace, 

Had to tek bofe feet an’ hol’ dem 
so’s to keep ’em in deir place. 

An’ de Christuns an’ de sinnahs 
got so mixed up on dat flo’, 

Dat I don’t see how dey ’d pahted 
ef de trump had chanced to 
blow. 

Well, we danced dat way an’ ca- 
pahed in de mos’ redic’lous 
way, | 

”*T well de roostahs in de bahnyard 
cleahed deir th’oats an’ crowed 
fu’ day. 

Y’ ought to been dah, fu’ I tell 
you evahthing was rich an’ 
prime, 

An’ dey ain’t no use in talkin’, we 
jes had one scrumptious time! 


[ 86 ] 














THE HEARTHSIDE 
aes Hsia 
+ | Z r 
ta mt ue 


na 








LOVE’S APOTHEOSIS 


Love me. I care not what the 
circling years 
To me may do. 
If, but in spite of time and tears, 
You prove but true. 


Love me — albeit grief shall dim 
mine eyes, 
And tears bedew, 
I shall not e’en complain, for then 
my skies 


Shall still be blue. 


Love me, and though the winter 
snow shall pile, 
And leave me chill, 
Thy passion’s warmth shall make 
for me, meanwhile, 


A sun-kissed hill. 


- And when the days have length- 
ened into years, 
And I grow old, 
Oh, spite of pains and griefs and 
cares and fears, 
Grow thou not cold. 


Then hand and hand we shall pass 
up the hill, 
I say not down; 
That twain go up, of love, who ’ve 
loved their fill,— 
To gain love’s crown. 


Love me, and let my life take up 
thine own, | 
As sun the dew. 
Come, sit, my queen, for in my 
heart a throne 
Awaits for you! 


THE PARADOX 


I Am the mother of sorrows, 
I am the ender of grief; 

I am the bud and the blossom, 
I am the late-falling leaf. 


I am thy priest and thy poet, 
I am thy serf and thy king; 
I cure the tears of the heartsick, 
When I come near they shall 
sing. 


White are my hands as the snow- 
drop; 
Swart are my fingers as clay; 
Dark is my frown as the mid- 
night, 
Fair is my brow as the day. 


Battle and war are my minions, 
Doing my will as divine; 

I am the calmer of passions, 
Peace is a nursling of mine. 


Speak to me gently or curse me, 
Seek me or fly from my sight; 

I am thy fool in the morning, 
Thou art my slave in the night. 


[ 89 ] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Down to the grave will I take 


thee, 
Out from the noise of the 
strife ; 
Then shalt thou see me and know 
me — 


Death, then, no longer, but life. 


‘Then shalt thou sing at my com- 
ing, 
Kiss me with passionate breath, 


Clasp me and smile to have 
thought me 

Aught save the foeman of 
Death. 


Come to me, brother, when weary, 


Come when thy lonely heart 
swells; 
I’ll guide thy footsteps and lead 
thee 
Down where the Dream Wom- 
an dwells. 


OVER THE HILLS 


Over the hills and the valleys of 
dreaming 
Slowly I take my way. 
Life is the night with its dream- 
visions teeming, 
Death is the waking at day. 


Down thro’ the dales and the bow- 
ers of loving, 
Singing, I roam afar. 


Daytime or night-time, I con- 
stantly roving,— 
Dearest one, thou art my star. 


WITH "THE LAR 


NIGHT is for sorrow and dawn is 
for joy, 

Chasing the troubles that fret and © 
annoy; 

Darkness for sighing and daylight 
for song,— 

Cheery and chaste the strain, 
heartfelt and strong. 

All the night through, though I 
moan in the dark, 

I wake in the morning to sing 
with the lark. | 


Deep in the midnight the rain 
whips the leaves, 

Softly and sadly the wood-spirit 
grieves. 

But when the first hue of dawn 
tints the sky, 

I shall shake out my wings like 
the birds and be dry; 

And though, like the rain-drops, I 
grieved through the dark, 

I shall wake in the morning to 
sing with the lark. 


On the high hills of heaven, some 
morning to be, 

Where the rain shall not grieve 
thro’ the leaves of the tree, 


L 90 ] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


There my heart will be glad for 
the pain I have known, 

For my hand will be clasped in the 
hand of mine own; 

And though life has been hard and 
death’s pathway been dark, 

I shall wake in the morning to 
sing with the lark. 


IN SUMMER 


Ou, summer has clothed the earth 
In a cloak from the loom of 
the sun! 
And a mantle, too, of the skies’ 
soft blue, 
And a belt where the rivers run. 


And now for the kiss of the wind, 
And the touch of the air’s soft 
hands, 
With the rest from strife and the 
heat of life, 
With the freedom of lakes and 


lands. 


I envy the farmer’s boy 
Who sings as he follows the 
plow; 
While the shining green of the 
young blades lean 
To the breezes that cool his 
brow. 


He sings to the dewy morn, 
No thought of another’s ear; 


But the song he sings is a chant 
for kings 
And the whole wide world to 
hear. 


He sings of the joys of life, 
Of the pleasures of work and 
rest, 
From an o’erfull heart, without 
aiin.or att, 
*T is a song of the merriest. 


O ye who toil in the town, 
And ye who moil in the mart, 
Hear the artless song, and your 
faith made strong 
Shall renew your joy of heart. 


Oh, poor were the worth of the 
world | 
If never a song were heard,— 
If the sting of grief had no re- 
lief, 


And never a heart were stirred. 


So, long as the streams run down, 
And as long as the robins trill, 
Let us taunt old Care with a 
merry air, | 
And sing in the face of ill. 


THE MYSTIC SEA 


‘THE smell of the sea in my nos- 
trils, 

The sound of the sea in mine 
ears; 


[91] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


The touch of the spray on my 
burning face, 
Like the mist of reluctant tears. 


The blue of the sky above me, 
The green of the waves be- 
neath; 
The sun flashing down on a gray- 
white sail 
Like a scimitar from its sheath. 


And ever the breaking billows, 
And ever the rocks’ disdain; 
And ever a thrill in mine inmost 

heart 
‘That my reason cannot explain. 


So I say to my heart, “ Be silent, 
The mystery of time is here; 
Death’s way will be plain when 
we fathom the main, 

And the secret of life be clear.” 


A SAILOR’S SONG 


Ou for the breath of the briny 
deep, 

And the tug of the bellying sail, 

With the sea-gull’s cry across the 
sky 

And a passing boatman’s hail. 

For, be she fierce or be she gay, 

The sea is a famous friend alway. 


Ho! for the plains where the 
dolphins play, 

And the bend of the mast and 
spars, 


And a fight at night with the wild 
sea-sprite 

When the foam has drowned the 
stars. 

And, pray, what joy can the lands- 
man feel 

Like the rise and fall of a sliding 
keel ? 


Fair is the mead; the lawn is fair 

And the birds sing sweet on the 
lea; 

But the echo soft of a song aloft 

Is the strain that pleases me; 

And swish of rope and ring of 
chain 7 

Are music to men who sail the 
main. 


Then, if you love me, let me sail 

While a vessel dares the deep; 

For the ship’s my wife, and the 
breath of life 

Are the raging gales that sweep; 

And when I’m done with calm 
and blast, 

A slide o’er the side, and rest at 
last. 


THE BOHEMIAN 


Brinc me the livery of no other 
man. 
I am my own to robe me at my 
pleasure. 
Accepted rules to me disclose no 
treasure: 


[ 92 ] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


What is the chief who shall my 
garments plan? 
No garb conventional but I'll 
attack it. | 
(Come, why not don my span- 
gled jacket?) 


ABSENCE 


GooD-NIGHT, my love, for I have 
dreamed of thee 

In waking dreams, until my soul 
is lost — 

Is lost in passion’s wide and shore- 
less sea, 

Where, like a ship, unruddered, it 
is tost 

Hither and thither at the wild 
waves’ will. 

There is no potent Master’s voice 
to still 

This newer, 
Galilee! 


more tempestuous 


The stormy petrels of my fancy 
fly 

In warning course across the 
darkening green, 

And, like a frightened bird, my 
heart doth cry 

And seek to find some rock of rest 
between 

The threatening sky and the re- 
lentless wave. 

It is not length of life that grief 
doth crave, 

But only calm and peace in which 
to die. 


Here let me rest upon this single 
hope, | 

For oh, my wings are weary of the 
wind, 

And with its stress no more may 
strive or cope. 

One cry has dulled mine ears, 
mine eyes are blind,— 

Would that o’er all the interven- 
ing space, 

I might fly forth and see thee face 
to face. 

I fly; I search, but, love, in gloom 
I grope. 


Fly home, far bird, unto thy wait- 
ing nest; 

Spread thy strong wings above the 
wind-swept sea. 

Beat the grim breeze with thy un- 
ruffled breast 

Until thou sittest wing to wing 
with me. 

Then, let the past bring up its 
tales of wrong; 

We shall chant low our sweet con- 
nubial song, 

Till storm and doubt and past no 
more shall be! 


HER THOUGHT AND HIS 


THE gray of the sea, and the gray 
of the sky, 

A glimpse of the moon like a half- 
closed eye. 

The gleam on the waves and the 
light on the land, 


[ 93 J 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


A thrill in my heart,— and — my 
sweetheart’s hand. . 


She turned from the sea with a. 
woman’s grace, 

And the light fell soft on her 
upturned face, 

And I thought of the flood-tide of 
infinite bliss 

That would flow to my heart from 
a single kiss. 


But my sweetheart was shy, so I 
dared not ask 

For the boon, so bravely I wore 
the mask. 

‘But into her face there came a 
flame: — 

I wonder could she 
thinking the same? 


have been 


THE RIGHT TO DIE 


I HAVE no fancy for that ancient 
cant 

‘That makes us masters of our des- 
tinies, 

And not our lives, to hold or give 
them up 

As will directs; I cannot, will not 
think 

That men, the subtle worms, who 
plot and plan 

And scheme and calculate with 
such shrewd wit, 

Are such great blund’ring fools as 
not to know 


When they have lived enough. 
Men court not death 

When there are sweets still left in 
life to taste. 

Nor will a brave man choose to 
live when he, 

Full deeply drunk of life, has 
reached the dregs, 

And knows that now but bitter- 
ness remains. 

He is the coward who, outfaced 
in this, 

Fears the false goblins of another 
life. | 

I honor him who being much 
harassed 

Drinks of sweet courage until 
drunk of it,— 

Then seizing Death, reluctant, by 
the hand, 

Leaps with him, fearless, to eter- 
nal peace! 


BEHIND THE ARRAS 


As in some dim baronial hall re- 
strained, 

A prisoner sits, engirt by secret 
doors 

And waving tapestries that argue 
forth 

Strange passages into the outer 
air; 

So in this dimmer room which we 
call life, 

Thus sits the soul and marks with 
eye intent 


[94] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


That mystic curtain o’er the por- 
tal death; 

,Still deeming that behind the 
arras lies 

The lambent way that leads to 
lasting light. 

Poor fooled and _ foolish 
Know now that death 

Is but a blind, false door that no- 
where leads, 

And gives no hope of exit final, 
free. 


soul! 


WHEN THE OLD MAN 
SMOKES 


In the forenoon’s restful quiet, 
When the boys are off at school, 
When the window lights are 
shaded 
And the chimney-corner cool, 
Then the old man seeks his arm- 
chair, 
Lights his pipe and settles back; 
Falls a-dreaming as he draws it 
Till the smoke-wreaths gather 


black. 
And the tear-drops come a-trick- 
ling 
Down his cheeks, a_ silver 
flow — 


Smoke or memories you wonder, 
But you never ask him,— no; 
For there’s something almost sa- 

cred 
To the other family folks 


In those moods of silent dream- 
ing 
When the old man smokes. 


Ah, perhaps he sits there dream- 
ing 
Of the love of other days 
And of how he used to lead her 


Through the merry dance’s 
maze; 

How he called her “little prin- 
cess,” 

And, to please her, used to 
twine 

Tender wreaths to crown her 
tresses, 


From the ‘“‘ matrimony vine.” 


Then before his mental vision 
Comes, perhaps, a sadder day, 
When they left his little princess 
Sleeping with her fellow clay. 
How his young heart throbbed, 

and pained him! 
Why, the memory of it chokes! 
Is it of these things he’s thinking 
When the old man smokes? 


But some brighter thoughts pos- 
sess him, 
For the tears are dried the 
while. 
And the old, worn face is wrin- 
kled 
In a reminiscent smile, 
From the middle of the forehead 
To the feebly trembling lip, 


[95] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


At some ancient prank remem- 
bered 


Or some long unheard-of quip. 


Then the lips relax their tension 
And the pipe begins to slide, 
Till in little clouds of ashes, 
It falls softly at his side; 
And his head bends low and lower 
Till his chin lies on his breast, 
And he sits in peaceful slumber 
Like a little child at rest. 


Dear old man, there ’s something 
sad’ning, 
In these dreamy moods of yours, 
Since the present proves so fleet- 
ing, 
All the past for you endures. 
Weeping at forgotten sorrows, 
Smiling at forgotten jokes; 
Life epitomized in minutes, 
When the old man smokes. 


THE GARRET 


WITHIN a London garret high, 
Above the roofs and near the sky, 
My ill-rewarding pen I ply 
To win me bread. 
This little chamber, six by four, 
Is castle, study, den, and more,— 
Altho’ no carpet decks the floor, 
Nor down, the bed. 


My room is rather bleak and bare; 
I only have one broken chair, 
But then, there’s plenty of fresh 
air,— 
Some light, beside. 
What tho’ I cannot ask my friends 
To share with me my odds and 
ends, 
A liberty my aerie lends, 
To most denied. 


The bore who falters at the stair 

No more shall be my curse and 
care, 

And duns shall fail to find my lair 

With beastly bills. 

When debts have grown and 
funds are short, 

I find it rather pleasant sport 

To live “ above the common sort ” 


With all their ills. 


I write my rhymes and sing away, 
And dawn may come or dusk or 
day: 
Tho’ fare be poor, my heart is 
gay, 
And full of glee. 

Though chimney-pots be all my 
views; 
nearer for 
Muse, 
So I am sure she'll not refuse 

To visit me. 


Tis the winging 


[ 96 ] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Wie) HK. 


ON THE RECEIPT OF A FAMILIAR 
POEM 


To me, like hauntings of a va- 
grant breath 
From some far forest which I 
once have known, 
The perfume of this flower of 
verse is blown. 
Tho’ seemingly soul-blossoms faint 
to death, : 
Naught that with joy she bears 
eer withereth. 
So, tho’ the pregnant years have 
come and flown, 
Lives come and gone and al- 
tered like mine own, 
This poem comes to me a shib- 
boleth: 
Brings sound of past communings 
to my ear, 
Turns round the tide of time 
and bears me back 
Along an old and long un- 
traversed way; 
Makes me forget this is a later 
year, 
Makes me tread o’er a reminis- 
cent track, 
Half sad, half glad, to one 
forgotten day! 


A BRIDAL MEASURE 


ComE, essay a sprightly measure, 
Tuned to some light song of 
pleasure. 


Maidens, let your brows be 
crowned 
As we foot this merry round. 


From the ground a voice is sing- 
ing, 
From the sod a soul is springing. 
Who shall say ’t is but a clod 
Quick’ning upward toward its 


God? 
Who shall say it? 


know it, 
That the clod is not a poet 
Waiting but a gleam to waken 
In a spirit music-shaken ? 


Who may 


Phyllis, Phyllis, why be waiting? 
In the woods the birds are mating. 
From the tree beside the wall, 
Hear the am’rous robin call. 


Listen to yon thrush’s trilling; 
Phyllis, Phyllis, are you willing, 
When love speaks from cave 
and tree, 
Only we should silent be? 


When the year, itself renewing, 
All the world with flowers is 
strewing, 
Then through Youth’s Arcadian 
land, 
Love and song go hand in hand. 


Come, unfold your vocal treasure, 
Sing with me a nuptial measure,— 
Let this springtime gambol be 
Bridal dance for you and me. 


[97] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


VENGEANCE IS SWEET 


WHEN I was young I longed for 
Love, 

And held his glory far above 

All other earthly things. I cried: 

“Come, Love, dear Love, with me 
abide; ”’ 

And with my subtlest art I wooed, 

And eagerly the wight pursued. 

But Love was gay and Love was 
shy, 

He laughed at me and passed me 
by. 


Well, I grew old and I grew gray, 

When Wealth came _ wending 
down my way. 

I took his golden hand with glee, 

And comrades from that day were 


we. 

Then Love came back with dole- 
ful face, 

And prayed that I would give him 
place. 

But, though his eyes with tears 
were dim, 

I turned my back and laughed at 

| him. 

A HYMN 
AFTER READING “ LEAD, KINDLY 
LIGHT.” 


Leap gently, Lord, and slow, 
For oh, my steps are weak, 
And ever as I go, 


Some soothing sentence speak; 


That I may turn my face 
Through doubt’s obscurity 

Toward thine abiding-place, 
E’en tho’ I cannot see. 


For lo, the way is dark; 

Through mist and cloud I grope, 
Save for that fitful spark, 

The little flame of hope. 


Lead gently, Lord, and slow, 
For fear that I may fall; 
I know not where to go 


Unless I hear thy call. 


My fainting soul doth yearn 
For thy green hills afar; 

So let thy mercy burn — 
My greater, guiding star! 


JUST WHISTLE A BIT 


Just whistle a bit, if the day be 
dark, 
And the sky be overcast: 
If mute be the voice of the piping 
lark, 
Why, pipe your own small blast. 


And it’s wonderful how o’er the 
gray sky-track 

The truant warbler comes steal- 
ing back. 

But why need he come? for your 
soul ’s at rest, 

And the song in the heart,— ah, 
that is best. 


[ 98 J 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Just whistle a bit, if the night be 
drear 
And the stars refuse to shine: 
And a gleam that mocks the star- 
light clear 
Within you glows benign. 


Till the dearth of light in the 
glooming skies 

Is lost to the sight of your soul-lit 
eyes. 

What matters the absence of moon 
or star? 

The light within is the best by far. 


Just whistle a bit, if there ’s work 
to do, 
With the mind or in the soil. 
And your note will turn out a 
talisman true 
To exorcise grim Toil. 


It will lighten your burden and 
make you feel 

That there ’s nothing like work as 
a sauce for a meal. 

And with song in your heart and 
the meal in — its place, 

There “ll be joy in your bosom and 
light in your face. 


Just whistle a bit, if your heart 
be sore; 
’Tis a wonderful balm for pain. 
Just pipe some old melody o’er 
and o’er 
Till it soothes like summer rain. 


And perhaps ’t would be best in a 
later day, 

When Death comes stalking down 
the way, 

To knock at your bosom and see 
if you’re fit, 

Then, as you wait calmly, just | 
whistle a bit. 


THE BARRIER 


Tue Midnight wooed the Morn- 
ing-Star, 
And prayed her: ‘‘ Love come 
nearer ; 
Your swinging coldly there afar 
To me but makes you dearer! ” 


The Morning-Star was pale with 
dole 
As said she, low replying: 
“Oh, lover mine, soul of my soul, 
For you I too am sighing. 


“But One ordained when we 
were born, 
In spite of Love’s insistence, 
That Night might only view the 
Morn 
Adoring at a distance.” 


But as she spoke the jealous Sun 
Across the heavens panted. 
“Oh, whining fools,” he cried, 
“have done; 
Your wishes shall be granted!” 


[99] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


He hurled his flaming lances far; 
‘The twain stood unaffrighted — 
And Midnight and the Morning- 
Star 
Lay down in death united! 


DREAMS 


DrEAM on, for dreams are sweet: 
Do not awaken! 

Dream on, and at thy feet 
Pomegranates shall be shaken. 


Who likeneth the youth 
Of life to morning? 

Tis like the night in truth, 
Rose-coloured dreams adorning. 


‘The wind is soft above, 
The shadows umber. 

(There is a dream called Love.) 
Take thou the fullest slumber! 


In Lethe’s soothing stream, 
Thy thirst thou slakest. 

Sleep, sleep; ’t is sweet to dream. 
Oh, weep when thou awakest! 


THE DREAMER 


TEMPLES he built and palaces of 
air, 
And, with the artist’s parent- 
pride aglow, 
His fancy saw his vague ideals 
grow 
Into creations marvellously fair; 


He set his foot upon Fame’s 
nether stair. 
But ah, his dream,—it had 
entranced him so 
He could not move. 
no farther go; 
But paused in joy that he was even 
there! 


He could 


He did not wake until one day 
there gleamed 
Thro’ his dark consciousness a 
light that racked 
His being till he rose, alert to act. 
But lo! what he had dreamed, the 
while he dreamed, 
Another, wedding action unto 
thought, 
Into the living, pulsing world 
had brought. 


WAITING 


THE sun has slipped his tether 
And galloped down the west. 
(Oh, it’s weary, weary waiting, 

love.) 
The little bird is sleeping 
In the softness of its nest. 
Night follows day, day follows 
dawn, 
And so the time has come and 
gone: 
And it’s weary, weary waiting, 
love. 


The cruel wind is rising 
With a whistle and a wail. 


[100] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


(And it’s weary, weary waiting, 
love. ) 
My eyes are seaward straining 
For the coming of a sail; 
But void the sea, and void the 


beach 
Far and beyond where gaze can 
reach! 
And it’s weary, weary waiting, 
love. 


I heard the bell-buoy ringing — 
How long ago it seems! 
(Oh, it’s weary, weary waiting, 
love. ) 

And ever still, its knelling 
Crashes in upon my dreams. 
The banns were read, my frock 
was sewn; 

Since then two seasons’ 
have blown — 
And it’s weary, weary waiting, 
love. 


winds 


The stretches of the ocean 
Are bare and bleak to-day. 
(Oh, it’s weary, weary waiting, 
love. ) 

My eyes are growing dimmer — 
Is it tears, or age, or spray? 
But I will stay till you come home. 
Strange ships come in across the 

foam! 
But it’s weary, weary waiting, 
love. 


THE END OF THE CHAP- 
‘TER 


AH, yes, the chapter ends to-day; 

We even lay the book away; 

But oh, how sweet the moments 
sped 

Before the final page was read! 


We tried to read between the lines 
The Author’s deep-concealed de- 


signs; 

But scant reward such search se- 
cures}; 

You saw my heart and I saw 
yours. 


The Master— He who penned 
the page 

And bade us read it,— He is sage: 

And what he orders, you and I 

Can but obey, nor question why. 


We read together and forgot 

The world about us. Time was 
not. 

Unheeded and unfelt, it fled. 

We read and hardly knew we 
read. 


Until beneath a sadder sun, 

We came to know the book was 
done. 

Then, as our minds were but new 
lit, 

It dawned upon us what was writ; 


And we were startled. In our 


eyes, 


[ror | 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Looked forth the light of great 
surprise. 
Then as a deep-toned tocsin tolls, 


A voice spoke forth: “ Behold 
your souls! ” 
I do, I do. I cannot look 


Into your eyes: so close the book. 

But brought it grief or brought it 
bliss, 

No other page shall read like this! 


SYMPATHY 


I KNow what the caged bird feels, 
alas! 
When the sun is bright on the 
upland slopes; 
When the wind stirs soft through 
the springing grass, 
And the river flows like a stream 
of glass; 
When the first bird sings and 
the first bud opes, 
And the faint perfume from its 
chalice steals — 
I know what the caged bird feels! 


I know why the caged bird beats 
his wing 
Till its blood is red on the cruel 
bars; 
For he must fly back to his perch 
and cling 
When he fain would be on the 
bough a-swing; 
And a pain still throbs in the 
old, old scars 


And they pulse again with a keener 
sting — 
I know why he beats his wing! 


I know why the caged bird sings, 
ah me, 
When his wing is bruised and 
his bosom sore,— 
When he beats his bars and he 
would be free; 
It is not a carol of joy or glee, 
But a prayer that he sends from 
his heart’s deep core, 
But a plea, that upward to Heaven 
he flings — 
I know why the caged bird sings! 


LOVE AND GRIEF 


Out of my heart, one treach’rous 
winter's day, 

I locked young Love and threw 
the key away. 

Grief, wandering widely, found 
the key, 

And hastened with it, straight- 
way, back to me, 

With Love beside him. He un- 
locked the door 

And bade Love enter with him 
there and stay. 

And so the twain abide for ever- 
more. 


LOVE’S CHASTENING 


Once. Love grew bold and arra- 
gant of air, 


[102] 








PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Proud of the youth that made him 
fresh and fair; 7 

So unto Grief he spake, 
right hast thou 

To part or parcel of this heart?” 
Grief’s brow 

Was darkened with the storm of 
inward strife; 

Thrice smote he Love as only he 
might dare, 

And Love, pride purged, was Ree 
tened all his life. 


“What 


MORTALITY 


ASHES to ashes, dust unto dust, 

What of his loving, what of his 
lust ? 

What of his passion, what of his 
pain? 

What of his poverty, what of his 

pride? 

the great mother, has called 

him again: 

Deeply he sleeps, the world’s ver- 
' dict defied. 
Shall he be tried again? 
go free? 

Who shall the court convene? 
Where shall it be? 


Earth, 


Shall he 


No answer on the land, none from. 


the sea. 

Only we know that as he did, we 
must: 

You with your theories, you with 
your trust,— 


Ashes to ashes, dust unto dust! 


LOVE 


A LIFE was mine full of the close 


concern 
Of many-voiced affairs, 
world sped fast; 
Behind me, ever rolled a preg- 
nant past. 
A present came equipped with lore 
to learn. 
Art, science, letters, in their turn, 
Each one allured me with its 
treasures vast; 
And I staked all for wisdom, 
till at last 
Thou cam’st and taught my soul 
anew to yearn. 
I had not dreamed that I could 
turn away 
From all that men with brush 
and pen had wrought; 
But ever since that memorable 
day 
When to my heart the truth of 
love was brought, 
I have been wholly yielded to 
its sway, 
And had no room for any other 
thought. 


The 


SHE GAVE ME A ROSE 


SHE gave a rose, 

And I kissed it and pressed it. 
I love her, she knows, 

And my action confessed it. 
She gave me a rose, 

And I kissed it and pressed it. 


[103] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Ah, how my heart glows, 

Could I ever have guessed it? 
It is fair to suppose 

‘That I might have repressed it: 
She gave me a rose, 

And I kissed it and pressed it. 


”T was a rhyme in life’s prose 

That uplifted and blest it. 
Man’s nature, who knows 

Until love comes to test it? 
She gave me a rose, 

And I kissed it and pressed it. 


DREAM SONG I 


Lonc years ago, within a distant 
clime, 

Ere Love had touched me with 
his wand sublime, 

I dreamed of one to make my life’s 


calm May 

The panting’ passion of a sum- 
mer’s day. 

And ever since, in almost sad sus- 
pense, 

I have been waiting with a soul 
intense 

To greet and take unto myself 
the beams, 

Of her, my star, the lady of my 
dreams. 


O Love, still longed and looked 


for, come to me, 


Be thy far home by mountain, 
vale, or sea. 

My yearning heart may never find 
its rest 

Until thou liest rapt upon my 
breast. 

The wind may bring its perfume 
from the south, 

Is it so sweet as breath from my 
love’s mouth? 

Oh, naught that surely is, and 
naught that seems 

May turn me from the lady of my 
dreams. 


DREAM SONG I 


Pray, what can dreams avail 
To make love or to mar? 
The child within the cradle rail 
Lies dreaming of the star. 
But is the star by this beguiled 
To leave its place and seek the 
child? 


The poor plucked rose within its 
glass 
Still dreameth of the bee; 
But, tho’ the lagging moments 
pass, 
Her Love she may not see. 
If dream of child and flower fail, 
Why should a maiden’s dreams 
prevail? 


[104] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


CHRISTMAS IN THL 
HEART 


THE snow lies deep upon the 
ground, 

And winter’s brightness all around 

Decks bravely out the forest sere, 

With jewels of the brave old year. 

The coasting crowd upon the hill 

With some new spirit seems to 
thrill; 

And all the temple bells achime. 

Ring out the glee of Christmas 
time. 


In happy homes the brown oak- 


bough 

Vies with the red-gemmed holly 
now ; 

And here and there, like pearls, 
there show 


The berries of the mistletoe. 

A sprig upon the chandelier 

Says to the maidens, ‘‘ Come not 
here! ” 

Even the pauper of the earth 

Some kindly gift has cheered to 
mirth! 


Within his chamber, dim and cold, 

There sits a grasping miser old. 

He has no thought save one of 
gain,— 

To grind and gather and grasp 
and drain. 

A peal of bells, a merry shout 

Assail his ear: he gazes out 

Upon a world to him all gray, 


And snarls, ‘‘ Why, this is Christ- 


mas Day!” 


No, man of ice,— for shame, for 
shame! 

For “ Christmas Day” is no mere 
name. 

No, not for you this ringing cheer, 

This festal season of the year. 

And not for you the chime of bells 

From holy temple rolls and swells. 

In day and deed he has no part — 

Who holds not Christmas in his 
heart ! 


THE KING IS DEAD 
Ayg, lay him in his grave, the old 


dead year! 
His life is lived — fulfilled his 
_ destiny. 
Have you for him no sad, regret- 
ful tear 


To drop beside the cold, unfol- 
lowed bier? 

Can you not pay the tribute of a 
sigh? 


Was he not kind to you, this dead 
old year? 

Did he not give enough of earthly 
store? 

Enough of love, and laughter, and 
good cheer? 

Have not the skies you scanned 
sometimes been clear? 


[105] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF | 


How, then, of him who dies, could 
you ask more? 


It is not well to hate him for the 
pain 

He brought you, and the sorrows 
manifold. 

To pardon him these hurts still I 
am fain; 

For in the panting period of his 
reign, 

He brought me new wounds, but 


he healed the old. 


One little sigh for thee, my poor, 
dead friend — 

One little sigh while my com- 
panions sing. 

Thou art so soon forgotten in the 


end; 
We cry e’en as thy footsteps down- 
ward tend: 
“The king is dead! long live the 
king!” 
THEOLOGY 


THERE is a heaven, for ever, day 
by day, 

The upward longing of my soul 
doth tell me so. 

There is a hell, I’m quite as sure; 
for pray, 

If there were not, where would 
my neighbours go? 


RESIGNATION 


Lone had I grieved at what I 
deemed abuse; 
But now I am as grain within 
the mill. 
If so be thou must crush me for 
thy use, 
Grind on, O potent God, and 
do thy will! 


LOVE’S HUMILITY 


As some rapt gazer on the lowly 
earth, 
Looks up to radiant planets, 
ranging far, 
So I, whose soul doth know thy 
wondrous worth 
Look longing up to thee as to a 
star. 


PRECEDENT 


THE poor man went to the rich 
man’s doors, 

“T come as Lazarus came,” he 
said. 

The rich man turned with humble 
head,— 

“‘T will send my dogs to lick your 
sores!” 


SHE TOLD HER BEADS 


SHE told her beads with down- 
cast eyes, 
Within the ancient chapel dim; 
And ever as her fingers slim 


[106] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Slipt o’er th’ insensate ivories, 
My rapt soul followed, spaniel- 
wise. 
Ah, many were the beads she wore; 
But as she told them o’er and 
o'er, 
They did not number all my sighs. 
My heart was filled with unvoiced 
cries 
And prayers and pleadings un- 
expressed ; 
But while I burned with Love’s 
unrest, 
She told her beads with down- 
cast eyes, 


LITTLE LUCY LANDMAN 


On, the day has set me dreaming 
In a strange, half solemn way 
Of the feelings I experienced 
On another long past day,— 
Of the way my heart made music 
When the buds began to blow, 
And o’ little Lucy Landman 
Whom I loved long years ago. 


It’s in spring, the poet tells us, 

That we turn to thoughts of 
love, 

And our hearts go out a-wooing 
With the lapwing and the dove. 

But whene’er the soul goes seeking 
Its twin-soul, upon the wing, 

I’ve a notion, backed by mem’ry, 
That it’s love that makes the 

_ spring. 


I have heard a robin singing 
When the boughs were brown 
and bare, 
And the chilling hand of winter 
Scattered jewels through the air. 
And in spite of dates and seasons, 
It was always spring, I know, 
When I loved Lucy Landman 
In the days of long ago. 


Ah, my little Lucy Landman, 
I remember you as well 
As if ’t were only yesterday 
I strove your thoughts to tell,— 
When I tilted back your bonnet, 
Looked into your eyes so true, 
Just to see if you were loving 
Me as I was loving you. 


Ah, my little Lucy Landman 
It is true it was denied 
You should see a fuller summer 
And an autumn by my side. 
But the glance of love’s sweet sun- 
light 
Which your eyes that morning 
gave 
Has kept spring within my bosom, 
Though you lie within the 
grave. 


THE GOURD 


In the heavy earth the miner 
Toiled and laboured day by day, 
Wrenching from the miser moun- 
tain 
Brilliant treasure where it lay. 


[107] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


And the artist worn and weary 
Wrought with labour manifold 
That the king might drink his 
nectar 
From a goblet made of gold. 


On the prince’s groaning table 
Mid the silver gleaming bright 
Mirroring the happy faces 
Giving back the flaming light, 
Shine the cups of priceless crystal 
Chased with many a lovely line, 
Glowing now with warmer colour, 
Crimsoned by the ruby wine. 


In a valley sweet with sunlight, 
Fertile with the dew and rain, 
Without miner’s daily labour, 
Without artist’s nightly pain, 
There there grows the cup I drink 
from, 
Summer’s sweetness in it stored, 
And my lips pronounce a blessing 
As they touch an old brown 
gourd. 


Why, the miracle at Cana 
In the land of Galilee, 

Tho’ it puzzles all the scholars, 
Is no longer strange to me. 
For the poorest and the humblest 
Could a priceless wine afford, 

If they ’d only dip up water 
With a sunlight-seasoned gourd. 


So a health to my old comrade, 
And a song of praise to sing 


When he rests inviting kisses 
In his place beside the spring. 
Give the king his golden goblets, 

Give the prince his crystal 
hoard; 
But for me the sparkling water 
From a brown and brimming 
gourd | 


THE KNIGHT 
Our good knight, Ted, girds his 


broadsword on 
(And he wields it well, I 
ween) ; 
He’s on his steed, and away has 
gone 
To the fight for king and queen. 
What tho’ no edge the broadsword 
hath? 
What tho’ the blade be made of 
lath? 
*T is a valiant hand 
That wields the brand, 
So, foeman, clear the path! 


He prances off at a goodly pace; 
*T is a noble steed he rides, 
That bears as well in the speedy 

race 
As he bears in battle-tides. 
What tho’ ’t is but a rocking-chair 
That prances with this stately air? 
"T is a warrior bold 
The reins doth hold, 
Who bids all foes beware! 


[108 ] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


THOU ART MY LUTE 


Tuovu art my lute, by thee I 
sing,— 
My being is attuned to thee. 
Thou settest all my words a-wing, 
And meltest me to melody. 


Thou art my life, by thee I live, 
From thee proceed the joys I 


know; 
Sweetheart, thy hand has power 
| to give 
The meed of love — the cup of 
woe. 


Thou art my love, by thee I lead 

My soul the paths of light along, 

From yale to vale, from mead to 
mead, 

And home it in the hills of song. 


My song, my soul, my life, my all, 
Why need I pray or make my 
plea, 
Since my petition cannot fall; 
For I’m already one with thee! 


THE PHANTOM KISS 


ONE night in my room, still and 
beamless, 
With will and with thought in 
eclipse, 
I rested in sleep that was dream- 
less ; 
When softly there fell on my 
lips 


A touch, as of lips that were press- 
ing . 
Mine own with the message of 
| bliss — 
A sudden, soft, fleeting caressing, 
A breath like a maiden’s first 
kiss. 


I woke—and the scoffer may 
doubt me — 
I peered in surprise through the 
gloom; 
But nothing and none were about 
me, 
And I was alone in my room. 


Perhaps *t was the wind that 
caressed me 


And touched me with dew-laden 


breath; 
Or, maybe, close-sweeping, there 
passed me 
The low-winging Angel of 
Death. 


Some sceptic may choose to dis- 
dain it, 
Or one feign to read it aright; 
Or wisdom may seek to explain 
it — 
This mystical kiss in the night. 


But rather let fancy thus clear it: 
That, thinking of me here alone, 
The miles were made naught, and, 
in spirit, 
Thy lips, love, were laid on 
mine own. 


[109] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


COMMUNION 


In the silence of my heart, 
I will spend an hour with thee, 
When my love shall rend apart 
All the veil of mystery: 


All that dim and misty veil 
That shut in between our souls 
When Death cried, “ Ho, maiden, 
hail!” 
And your barque sped on the 
shoals, 


On the shoals? 
said. 
On the breeze of Death that 
sweeps 
Far from life, thy soul has sped 
Out into unsounded deeps. 


Nay, wrongly 


I shall take an hour.and come 
Sailing, darling, to thy side. 
Wind nor sea may keep me from 

Soft communings with my bride. 


I shall rest my head on thee 
As I did long days of yore, 
When a calm, untroubled sea 
Rocked thy vessel at the shore. 


I shall take thy hand in mine, 
And live o’er the olden days 
When thy smile to me was wine,— 

Golden wine thy word of praise, 


For the carols I had wrought 
In my soul’s simplicity; 


For the petty beads of thought 
Which thine eyes alone could 
see. 


Ah, those eyes, love-blind, but keen 
For my welfare and my weal! 
Tho’ the grave-door shut between, 
Still their love-lights o’er me 
steal. , 


I can see thee thro’ my tears, 
As thro’ rain we see the sun. 
What tho’ cold and cooling years 
Shall their bitter courses run,— 


I shall see thee still and be 
Thy true lover evermore, 

And thy face shall be to me 
Dear and helpful as before. 


Death may vaunt and Death may 
boast, 
But we laugh his pow’r to 
scorn ; 
He is but a slave at most,— 
Night that heralds coming morn. 


I shall spend an hour with thee 
Day by day, my little bride. 
True love laughs at mystery, 
Crying, ‘‘ Doors of Death, fly 
wide.” 


MARE RUBRUM 


In Life’s Red Sea with faith I 
plant my feet, 

And wait the sound of that sus- 
taining word 


[r10] 








PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Which long ago the men of 
Israel heard, 
When Pharaoh’s host behind them, 
fierce and fleet, 
Raged on, consuming with re- 
vengeful heat. 
Why are the barrier waters 
still unstirred ? — 
That struggling faith may die 
of hope deferred? 
Is God not sitting in His ancient 
seat? 


The billows swirl above my trem- 
bling limbs, 
And almost chill my anxious 
heart to doubt 
And disbelief, long conquered 
and defied. 
But tho’ the music of my hopeful 
hymns 
Is drowned by curses of the rag- 
ing rout, 
No voice yet bids th’ opposing 
waves divide! 


IN AN ENGLISH GARDEN 


In this old garden, fair, I walk 
to-day 
Heart-charmed with all the 
beauty of the scene: 
rich, luxuriant 
cooling green, 
The wall’s environ, ivy-decked and 
gray, 


The 


grasses’ 


The waving branches with the 
wind at play, 
slight and tremulous 
blooms that show between, 
Sweet all: and yet my yearning 
heart doth lean 
Toward Love’s Egyptian  flesh- 
pots far away. 


The 


Beside the wall, the slim Labur- 
num grows 
And flings its golden flow’rs to 
every breeze. 
But e’en among such soothing 
sights as these, 
I pant and nurse my soul-devour- 
ing woes. 
Of all the longings that our 
hearts wot of, 
There is no hunger like the want 
of love! 


THE CRISIS 


A MAN of low degree was sore op- 
pressed, 
Fate held him under iron-handed 
sway, 
And ever, those who saw him 
thus distressed 
Would bid him bend his stub- 
born will and pray. 
But he, strong in himself and ob- 
durate, 
Waged, prayerless, on his losing 
fight with Fate. 


Per} 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Friends gave his proffered hand 
their coldest clasp, 
Or took it not at all; and Poy- 
erty, 
That bruised his body with relent- 
less grasp, 
Grinned, taunting, when he 
struggled to be free. 
But though with helpless hands he 
beat the air, 
His need extreme yet found no 
voice in prayer. 


Then he prevailed; and forthwith 

snobbish Fate, 
Like some whipped cur, came 

fawning at his feet; 

(Those who had scorned forgave 

and called him great — 

friends found out that 

friendship still was sweet. 

But he, once obdurate, now bowed 
his head 

In prayer, and trembling with its 
import, said: 


His 


“* Mere human strength may stand 
ill-fortune’s frown; 
So I prevailed, for 
strength was mine; 
But from the killing pow’r of 
great renown, 
Naught may protect me save a 
strength divine. 
Help me, O Lord, ia this my 
trembling cause; 
I scorn men’s curses, but I dread 
applause! ” 


human 


THE CONQUERORS 


THE BLACK TROOPS IN CUBA 


Rounp the wide earth, from the 
red field your valour has won, 
Blown with the breath of the far- 
speaking gun, 
Goes the word. 

Bravely you spoke through the bat- 
tle cloud heavy and dun. 
Tossed though the speech toward 

the mist-hidden sun, 


The world heard. 


Hell would have shrunk from you 
seeking it fresh from the fray, 
Grim with the dust of the battle, 
and gray 
From the fight. 

Heaven would have crowned you, 
with crowns not of gold but 
of bay, 

Owning you fit for the light of 
her day, 

Men of night. 


Far through the cycle of years and 
of lives that shall come, 
There shall speak voices long muf- 

fled and dumb, 
Out of fear. 
And through the noises of trade 
and the turbulent hum, 
Truth shall rise over the militant 
drum, 
Loud and clear. 


Then on the cheek of the honester 
nation that grows, 


[112] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


All for their love of you, not for 
your woes, 
There shall lie 
Tears that shall be to your souls as 
the dew to the rose; 
Afterward thanks, that the pres- 
ent yet knows 
Not to ply! 


ALEXANDER CRUMMELL 
— DEAD 


Back to the breast of thy mother, 

Child of the earth! 

E’en her caress can not smother 

What thou hast done. 

Follow the trail of the westering 
sun 

Over the earth. 

Thy light and his were as one — 

Sun, in thy worth. 

Unto a nation whose sky was as 
night, 

Camest thou, holily, bearing thy 
light: 

And the dawn came, 

In it thy fame 

Flashed up in a flame. 


Back to the breast of thy mother — 

To rest. 

Long hast thou striven; 

Dared where the hills by the light- 
ning of heaven were riven; 

Go now, pure shriven. 

Who shall come after thee, out of 
the clay — 


Learned one and leader to show 
us the way? 

Who shall rise up when the world 
gives the test? 

‘Think thou no more of this — 


Rest ! 


WHEN ALL IS DONE 


WHEN all is done, and my last 
word is said, 

And ye who loved me murmur, 
“He is dead,” 

Let no one weep, for fear that I 
should know, 

And sorrow too that ye should 
SOrroW SO. 


When all is done and in the ooz- 
ing clay, 

Ye lay this cast-off hull of mine 
away, 

Pray not for me, for, after long 
despair, 

The quiet of the grave will be a 
prayer. 


For I have suffered loss and 
grievous pain, 
hurts of hatred and the 

world’s disdain, 

And wounds so deep that love, 
well-tried and pure, 

Had not the pow’r to ease them 
or to cure. 


The 


When all is done, say not my day 
is O’er, 


[113] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


And that thro’ night I seek a dim- 
mer shore: 

Say rather that my morn has just 
begun,— 

I greet the dawn and not a setting 
sun, 


When all is done. 


THE POET AND THE 
BABY 


How’s a man to write a sonnet, 
can you tell,— 
How’’s he going to weave the dim, 
poetic spell,— 
When a-toddling on the floor 
Is the muse he must adore, 
And this muse he loves, 
wisely, but too well? 


not 


Now, to write a sonnet, every one 
allows, 
One must always be as quiet as a 
Mouse ; 
But to write one seems to me 
Quite superfluous to be, 
When you’ve got a little sonnet 
in the house. 


Just a dainty little poem, true and 
fine, 
That is full of love and life in 
every line, 
Earnest, delicate, and sweet, 
Altogether so complete 


That I wonder what’s the use of 
writing mine. 


DISTINCTION 


‘“‘T am but clay,” the sinner plead, 
Who fed each vain desire. 

“Not only clay,” another said, 
“ But worse, for thou art mire.” 


THE SUM 


‘A LITTLE dreaming by the way, 


A little toiling day by day; 
A little pain, a little strife, 
A little joy,— and that is life. 


AY litte 
morn, 

When joy seems all so newly born, 

When one day’s sky is blue above, 

And one bird sings,— and that is 
love. 


short-lived summer’s 


A little sickening of the years, 

The tribute of a few hot tears 

Two folded hands, the failing 
breath, 

And peace .at last,—and that is 
death. 


Just dreaming, loving, dying so, 

The actors in the drama go — 

A flitting picture on a wall, 

Love, Death, the themes; but is 
that all? 


[114] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


SONNET 


ON AN OLD BOOK WITH UNCUT 
LEAVES 


EMBLEM of blasted hope and lost 
desire, 
No finger ever traced thy yel- 
low page 
Save Time’s. Thou hast not 
wrought to noble rage 
hearts thou wouldst have 
stirred. Not any fire 
Save sad flames set to light a fu- 
neral pyre 
Dost thou suggest. 
potent in age, 
Unsought, thou holdst a corner 
of the stage 
And ceasest even dumbly to aspire. 


The 


How different was the thought of 
him that writ. 
What promised he to love of 
ease and wealth, 
When men should read and kin- 
dle at his wit. 
But here decay eats up the book 
by stealth, 
While it, like some old maiden, 
solemnly, 
Hugs its incongruous virginity! 


ON THE SEA WALL 


I sir upon the old sea wall, 
And watch the shimmering sea, 
Where soft and white the moon- 
beams fall, 


Nay,— im-’ 


Till, in a fantasy, 
Some pure white maiden’s funeral 
pall 
The strange light seems to me. 


The waters break upon the shore 
And shiver at my feet, 
While I dream old dreams o’er 
and o’er, 
And dim old scenes repeat; 
Tho’ all have dreamed the same 
before, 
They still seem new and sweet. 


The waves still sing the same old 
song 
That knew an elder time; 
The breakers’ beat is not more 
strong, 
Their music more sublime; 
And poets thro’ the ages long 
Have set these notes to rhyme. 


But this shall not deter my lyre, 
Nor check my simple strain; 
If I have not the old-time fire, 
I know the ancient pain: 
The hurt of unfulfilled desire,— 
The ember quenched by rain. 


I know the softly shining sea 
That rolls this gentle swell 
Has snarled and licked its tongues 
at me 
And bared its fangs as well; 
That ’neath its smile so heavenly, 


There lurks the scowl of hell! 


[115] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


But what of that? 
string 
(For songs in youth are sweet) ; 
I’ll wait and hear the waters 
bring 
Their loud resounding beat; 
Then, in her own bold numbers 
sing 
The Ocean’s dear deceit! 


I strike my 


TO A LADY PLAYING THE 
HARP 


Tuy tones are silver melted into 
sound, 
And as I dream 
I see no walls around, 
But seem to hear 
A gondolier 
Sing sweetly down some slow Ve- 
netian stream. 


Italian skies — that I have never 
seen — 
I see above. 
(Ah, play again, my queen; 
Thy fingers white 
Fly swift and light 
And weave for me the golden 
mesh of love.) 


Oh, thou dusk sorceress of the 
dusky eyes 
And soft dark hair, 
"T is thou that mak’st my skies 
So swift to change 
To far and strange; 


But far and strange, thou still 
dost make them fair. 


Now thou dost sing, and I am lost 
in thee 
As one who drowns 
In floods of melody. 
Still in thy art 
Give me this part, 
Till perfect love, the love of lov 
ing crowns. 


CONFESSIONAL 


SEARCH thou my heart; 
If there be guile, 

It shall depart 
Before thy smile. 


Search thou my soul; 
Be there deceit, 

*T will vanish whole 
Before thee, sweet. 


Upon my mind 
Turn thy pure lens; 
Naught shalt thou find 


Thou canst not cleanse. 


If I should pray, 
I scarcely know 
In just what way 
My prayers would go. 


So strong in me 

I feel love’s leaven, 
I ’d bow to thee 

As soon as Heaven! 


[116] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


MISAPPREHENSION 


Out of my heart, one day, I 
wrote a song, 
With my heart’s blood imbued, 
Instinct with passion, tremulously 
strong, 
With grief subdued; 
Breathing a fortitude 
Pain-bought. 
And one who claimed much love 
for what I wrought, 
Read and considered it, 
And spoke: 
“ Ay, brother,—’t is well writ, 
But where’s the joke?” 


PROMETHEUS 


PROMETHEUS stole from Heaven 
the sacred fire 
And swept to earth with it o’er 
land and sea. 
He lit the vestal flames of poesy, 
Content, for this, to brave celes- 
tial ire. 


Wroth were the gods, and with 
eternal hate 
Pursued the fearless one who 
ravished Heaven 
That earth might hold in fee 
the perfect leaven 
To lift men’s souls above their 
low estate. 


But judge you now, when poets 
wield the pen, 


Think you not well the wrong 
has been repaired ? 
*T was all in vain that ill Pro- 
metheus fared: 
The fire has been returned to 
Heaven again! 


We have no singers like the ones 
whose note 
Gave challenge to the noblest 
warbler’s song. 
We have no voice so mellow, 
sweet, and strong 
As that which broke from Shelley’s 
golden throat. 


‘The measure of our songs is our 
desires: 
We tinkle where old poets used 
to storm. 
We lack their substance tho’ we 
keep their form: 
We strum our banjo-strings and 
call them lyres. 


LOVE’S PHASES 


Love hath the wings of the but 
terfly, 
Oh, clasp him but gently, 
Pausing and dipping and flutter- 
ing by 
Inconsequently. 
Stir not his poise with the breath 
of a sigh; 
Love hath the wings of the but- 
terfly. 


[117] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Love hath the wings of the eagle 
bold, 
Cling to him strongly — 
What if the look of the world be 
cold, 
And life go wrongly? 
Rest on his pinions, for broad is 
their fold; 
Love hath the wings of the eagle 
bold. 


Love hath the voice of the nightin- 
gale, 
Hearken his trilling — 
List to his song when the moon- 
light is pale,— 
Passionate, thrilling. 
Cherish the lay, ere the lilt of it 
fail ; 
Love hath the voice of the nightin- 
gale. 


Love hath the voice of the storm 
at night, 
Wildly defiant. 
Hear him and yield up your soul 
to his might, 
Tenderly pliant. 
None shall regret him who heed 
him aright; 
Love hath the voice of the storm 
at night. 7 


FOR THE MAN WHO 
FAILS 


THE world is a snob, and the man 
who wins 


Is the chap for its money’s 
worth: 
And the lust for success causes 
half of the sins 
That are cursing this brave old 
earth. 
For it’s fine to go up, and the 
world’s applause 
Is sweet to the mortal ear; 
But the man who fails in a noble 
cause 
Is a hero that’s no less dear. 


*T is true enough that the laurel 
crown 
Twines but for the victor’s 
brow; 
For many a hero has lain him 
down 
With naught but the cypress 
bough. 
There are gallant men in the los- 
ing fight, 
And as gallant deeds are done 
As ever graced the captured 
height 
Or the battle grandly won. 


We sit at life’s board with our 
nerves highstrung, 
And we play for the stake of 
Fame, 
And our odes are sung and our 
banners hung 
For the man who wins the 
game. 
But I have a song of another kind 


[r3r8] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Than breathes in these fame- 
wrought gales,— 
An ode to the noble heart and 
mind 
Of the gallant man who fails! 


The man who is strong to fight his 


fight, 
And whose will no front can 
daunt, 
If the truth be truth and the right 
be right, 


Is the man that the ages want. 
Tho’ he fail and die in grim de- 
feat, 
Yet he has not fled the strife, 
And the house of Earth will seem 
more sweet 
For the perfume of his life. 


HARRIET BEECHER 
STOWE 


SHE told the story, and the whole 
world wept 

At wrongs and cruelties it had 

not known 

But for this fearless woman’s 

voice alone. 

She spoke to consciences that 
long had slept: 
message, Freedom’s 
reveille, swept 
From heedless hovel to compla- 

cent throne. 
Command and prophecy were 
in the tone 


Her 


clear 


And from its sheath the sword 
of justice leapt. 
Around two peoples swelled a 
fiery wave, 
But both came forth transfig- 
ured from the flame. | 
Blest be the hand that dared be 
strong to save, 
And blest be she who in our 
weakness came — 
Prophet and priestess! 
stroke she gave 
A race to freedom and herself 
to fame. 


At one 


VAGRANTS 


Lone time ago, we two set out, 
My soul and I. 
I know not why, 
For all our way was dim with 
doubt. 
I know not where 
We two may fare: 
Though still with every changing 
weather, 
We wander, groping on together. 


We do not love, we are not 
friends, 
My soul and I. 
He lives a lie; 
Untruth lines every way he wends. 
A scoffer he 
Who jeers at me: 


[119] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


And so, my comrade and my 
brother, 

We wander on and hate each 
other. 


‘Ay, there be taverns and to spare, 
Beside the road; 
But some strange goad 
Lets me not stop to taste their 
fare. 
Knew I the goal 
Toward which my soul 
And I made way, hope made life 
fragrant: 
We wander, aimless, va- 
grant! 


But no. 


A WINTER’S DAY 


Across the hills and down the 
narrow ways, 
And up the valley where the 
free winds sweep, 
The earth is folded in an er- 
mined sleep 
‘Chat mocks the melting mirth of 
myriad Mays. 
[Departed her disheartening duns 
and grays, 
And all her crusty black is coy- 
ered deep. 
Dark streams are locked in 
Winter’s donjon-keep, 
And made to shine with keen, un- 
wonted rays. 


O icy mantle, and deceitful snow! 
What world-old liars in your 

hearts ye are! 

_ Are there not still the darkened 
seam and scar 

Beneath the brightness that you 
fain would show? 

Come from the cover with thy 
blot and blur, 

O reeking Earth, thou whited 
sepulchre! 


MY LITTLE MARCH 
GIRL 


CoME to the pane, draw the cur- 
tain apart, 

There she is passing, the girl of 
my heart; 

See where she walks like a queen 
in the street, 

Weather-defying, calm, placid and 
sweet. 

Tripping along with impetuous 
grace, 

Joy of her life beaming out of her 
face, 

Tresses all truant-like, curl upon 
curl, 

Wind-blown and rosy, my little 
March girl. 


Hint of the violet’s delicate 
bloom, 

Hint of the rose’s pervading per- 
fume! 


[120] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


How can the wind help from kiss- 
ing her face,— 

Wrapping her round in his stormy 
embrace ? 

But still serenely she laughs at his 
rout, 

She is the victor who wins in the 
bout. 

So may life’s passions about her 
soul swirl, 

Leaving it placid,— my 
March girl. 


little 


What self-possession looks out of 
her eyes! 

What are the wild winds, and 
what are the skies, 

Frowning and glooming when, 
brimming with life, 

Cometh the little maid ripe for the 
strife ? 

Ah! Wind, and bah! Wind, what 
might have you now? 

What can you do with that inno- 
cent brow? 

Blow, Wind, and grow, Wind, 
and eddy and swirl, 

But bring her to me, Wind,— my 
little March girl. 


REMEMBERED 


SHE sang, and I listened the 
whole song thro’. 
(It was sweet, so sweet, the 
singing. ) 


The stars were out and the moon 


it grew 
From a wee soft glimmer way out 
in the blue 
To a bird thro’ the heavens 
winging. 


She sang, and the song trembled 
down to my breast,— 
(It was sweet, so sweet the 
singing. ) 
As a dove just out of its fledgling 
nest, 
And, putting its wings to the first 
sweet test, 
Flutters homeward so wearily 
winging. 


She sang and I said to my heart 
“That song, 
That was sweet, so sweet i’ the 
singing, 
Shall live with us and inspire us 
long, 
And thou, my heart, shalt be brave 
and strong 
For the sake of those words 
a-winging. 


The woman died and the song 


was still. 
(It was sweet, so sweet, the 
singing. ) 
But ever I hear the same low 
trill, 


Of the song that shakes my heart 
with a thrill, 
And goes forever winging. 


[r21] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OEF 


LOVE DESPOILED 


As lone I sat one summer’s day, 


With mien dejected, Love 
came by; 
His face distraught, his locks 
astray, 


So slow his gait, so sad his eye, 
I hailed him with a pitying cry: 


“Pray, Love, what has disturbed 


thee so?” 
Said I, amazed. ‘“ Thou seem’st 
bereft ; 
And see thy quiver hanging 


low,— 
What, not a single arrow left? 
Pray, who is guilty of this 
theft?” 


Poor Love looked in my face and 
cried: 
“No thief were ever yet so bold 
To rob my quiver at my side. 
But Time, who rules, gave ear 
to Gold, 
And all my goodly shafts are 
sold.” 


THE LAPSE 


THIS poem must be done to-day; 
Then, I ’ll e’en to it. 

I must not dream my time away,— 
I’m sure to rue it. 

The day is rather bright, I know 
The Muse will pardon 


My half-defection, if I go 
Into the garden. 
It must be _ better 
there,— 
I’m sure it’s sweeter: 
And something in the balmy air 
May clear my metre. 


working 


[In the Garden.] 


Ah this is noble, what a sky! 
What breezes blowing! 

The very clouds, I know not why, 
Call one to rowing. 

The stream will be a paradise 
‘To-day, I ll warrant. 

I know the tide that’s on the rise 
Will seem a torrent; 

I know just how the leafy boughs 
Are all a-quiver; 

I know how many skiffs and scows © 
Are on the river. 

I think I ’Il just go out awhile 
Before I write it; 

When Nature shows us such a 

smile, 

We should n’t slight it. 

For Nature always makes desire 
By giving pleasure; 

And so ’t will help me put more 

fire 


Into my measure. 


[On the River.] 


The river ’s fine, I’m glad I came, 
That poem’s teasing; 

But health is better far than fame, 
Though cheques are pleasing. 


[122] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


I don’t know what I did it for,— 
This air ’s a poppy. 

I’m sorry for my editor,— 
He ’ll get no copy! 


THE WARRIOR’S PRAYER 


Lone since, in sore distress, I 
heard one pray, 
“ Lord, who prevailest with re- 
sistless might, 
Ever from war and strife keep me 
away, 


My battles fight!” 


I know not if I play the Pharisee, 
And if my brother after all be 
right; 
But mine shall bé the warrior’s 
plea to thee — 
Strength for the fight. 


I do not ask that thou shalt front 
the fray, 
And drive the warring foeman 
from my sight; 
I only ask, O Lord, by night, by 
day, 
Strength for the fight! 


When foes upon me press, let me 
not quail 
Nor think to turn me _ into 
coward flight. 
I only ask, to make mine arms 
prevail, 
Strength for the fight! 


Still let mine eyes look ever on the 
foe, 
Still let mine armor case me 
strong and bright; 
And grant me, as I deal each right- 
eous blow, 
Strength for the fight! 


And when, at eventide, the fray 
is done, 
My soul to Death’s bedchamber 
do thou light, 
And give me, be the field or lost 
or won, 
Rest from the fight! 


FAREWELL TO ARCADY 


WirtH sombre mien, the Evening 
gray | 

Comes nagging at the heels of 
Day, 

And driven faster and still faster 

Before the dusky-mantled Master, 

The light fades from her fearful 
eyes, 

She hastens, stumbles, falls, and 
dies. 


Beside me Amaryllis weeps; 

The swelling tears obscure the 
deeps 

Of her dark eyes, as, mistily, 

The rushing rain conceals the sea. 

Here, lay my tuneless reed away,— 

I have no heart to tempt a lay. 


[123] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


I scent the perfume of the rose 
Which by my crystal fountain 


crows. 
In this sad time, are roses blow- 
ing? 
And thou, my fountain, art thou 
flowing, 


While I who watched thy waters 
spring 
Am all too sad to smile or sing? 
Nay, give me back my pipe again, 
It yet shall breathe this single 
strain: 
Farewell to Arcady! 


THE VOICE OF, THE 
BANJO 


In a small and lonely cabin out 
of noisy traffic’s way, 

Sat an old man, bent and feeble, 
dusk of face, and hair of gray, 

And beside him on the table, bat- 
tered, old, and worn as he, 

Lay a banjo, droning forth this 
reminiscent melody: 


“Night is closing in upon us, 
friend of mine, but don’t be 
sad ; 

Let us think of all the pleasures 
and the joys that we have had. 

Let us keep a merry visage, and be 
happy till the last, 

Let the future still be sweetened 
with the honey of the past. 


“For I speak to you of summer 
nights upon the yellow sand, 

When the Southern moon was 
sailing high and silvering all 
the land; 

And if love tales were not sacred, 
there’s a tale that I could 
tell 

Of your many nightly wanderings 
with a dusk and lovely belle. 


“And I speak to you of care-free 
songs when labour’s hour was 
o’er, 

And a woman waiting for your 
step outside the cabin door, 

And of something roly-poly that 
you took upon your lap, 

While you listened for the stum- 
bling, hesitating words, ‘ Pap, 
pap.’ 


“TI could tell you of a ’possum 
hunt across the wooded 
grounds, 

I could call to mind the sweetness 
of the baying of the hounds, 

‘You could lift me up and smelling 
of the timber that’s in me, 

Build again a whole green forest 
with the mem’ry of a tree. 


“So the future cannot hurt us 
while we keep the past in 
mind, 

What care I for trembling fingers, 
— what care you that you are 


blind? 


[124] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Time may leave us poor and 
stranded, circumstance may 
make us bend; 

But they ’ll only find us mellower, 
won't they, comrade? —in 
the end.” 


THE STIRRUP CUP 


Come, drink a stirrup cup with me, 
Before we close our rouse. 
You’re all aglow with wine, I 

know: 
The master of the house, 
Unmindful of our revelry, 
Has drowned the carking devil 
care, 
And slumbers in his chair. 


Come, drink a cup before we start; 
We ’ve far to ride to-night. 
And Death may take the race we 
make, 
And check our gallant flight: 
But even he must play his part, 
And tho’ the look he wears be 
grim, 
Well drink a toast to him! 


For Death,—a swift old chap is 
he, 
And swift the steed He rides. 
He needs no chart o’er main or 
mart, 
For no direction bides. 
So, come, a final cup with me, 
And let the soldiers’ chorus 
swell,— 


To hell with care, to hell! 


ACHOLCE 


THEY please me not —these 
solemn songs 
That hint of sermons covered up. 
*T is true the world should heed 
its wrongs, 
But in a poem let me sup, 
Not simples brewed to cure or 
ease 
Humanity’s confessed disease, 
But the spirit-wine of a singing 
line, 
Or a dew-drop in a honey cup! 


[125] 





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THEN AND NOW 
THEN 


He loved her, and through many 
years, 

Had paid his fair devoted court, 

Until she wearied, and with sneers 

Turned all his ardent love to sport. 


That night within his chamber 
lone, 

He long sat writing by his bed 

A note in which his heart made 
moan 

For love; the morning found him 
dead. 


NOW 

_ Like him, a man of later day 

~ Was jilted by the maid he sought, 

And from her presence turned 
away, 

Consumed by burning, 
thought. 


bitter 


He sought his room to write —a 
curse 

Like him before and die, I ween. 

Ah no, he put his woes in verse, 

And sold them to a magazine. 


AT CHESHIRE CHEESE 


WHEN first of wise old Johnson 
taught, 

My youthful mind its homage 
brought, 


And made the pond’rous crusty 
sage 
The object of a noble rage. 


Nor did I think (How dense we 
are!) 

That any day, however far, 

Would find me holding, unre- 
pelled, 

The place that Doctor Johnson 
held! 


But change has come and time has 
moved, 

And now, applauded, unreproved, 

I hold, with pardonable pride, 

The place that Johnson occupied. 


Conceit ! 
this? 
You surely read my words amiss; 
Like Johnson I,—a man of mind! 
How could you ever be so blind? 


No. 


Presumption! What is 


At the ancient ‘ Cheshire 

Cheese,” 

Blown hither by some vagrant 
breeze, 

To dignify my shallow wit, 

In Doctor Johnson’s seat I sit! 


MY CORN-COB PIPE 


Men may sing of their Havanas, 
elevating to the stars 

The real or fancied virtues of their 
foreign-made cigars; 


[129] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


But I worship Nicotina at a dif- 
ferent sort of shrine, 
And she sits enthroned in glory in 

this corn-cob pipe of mine. 


It’s as fragrant as the meadows 
when the clover is in bloom; 

It ’s as dainty as the essence of the 
daintiest perfume; 

It’s as sweet as are the orchards 
when the fruit is hanging ripe, 

With the sun’s warm kiss upon 
them — is this corn-cob pipe. 


Thro’ the smoke about it clinging, 
I delight its form to trace, 

Like an oriental beauty with a veil 
upon her face; 

And my room is dim with vapour 
as a church when censers 
sway, 

As I clasp it to my bosom — in a 
figurative way. 


It consoles me in misfortune and 
it cheers me in distress, 

And it proves a warm partaker of 
my pleasures in success; 

So I hail it as a symbol, friendship’s 
true and worthy type, 

And I press my lips devoutly to 
my corn-cob pipe. 


IN AUGUST 


WHEN August days are hot an’ 
dry, 
When burning copper is the sky, 


I’d rather fish than feast or fly 
In airy realms serene and high. 


I ’d take a suit not made for looks, 

Some easily digested books, 

Some flies, some lines, some bait, 
some hooks, 

Then would I seek the bays and 


brooks. 


I would eschew mine every task, 
In Nature’s smiles my soul should 


bask, 

And I methinks no more could 
ask, 

Except — perhaps — one little 
flask. 


In case of accident, you know, 

Or should the wind come on. to 
blow, 

Or I be chilled or capsized, so, 

A flask would be the only go. 


Then could I 
time,— 

A bit of sport, a bit of rhyme 

(A bit of lemon, or of lime, 

To make my bottle’s contents 
prime). 


spend a_ happy 


When August days are hot an’ 
dry, 

I won’t sit by an’ sigh or die, 

I ll get my bottle (on the sly) 

And go ahead, and fish, and lie! 


[130] eee 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


THE DISTURBER 


Ou, what shall I do? I am wholly 
upset ; 

I am sure I'll be jailed for a 
lunatic yet. 

I’ll be out of a job—it’s the 
thing to expect 

When I’m letting my duty go by 
with neglect. 

You may judge the extent and de- 
gree of my plight 

When I’m thinking all day and 
a-dreaming all night, 

And a-trying my hand at a rhyme 
on the sly, 

All on account of a sparkling eye. 


There are those who say men 
should be strong, well-a-day! 

But what constitutes strength in 
a man? Who shall say? 

I am strong as the most when it 
comes to the arm. 

I have aye held my own on the 
playground or farm. 

And when I’ve been tempted, I 
have n’t been weak; 

But now—why, I tremble to 
hear a maid speak. 


I used to be bold, but now I’ve - 


grown shy, 
And all on account of a sparkling 
eye. 


There once was a time when my 
heart was devout, 


But now my religion is open to 
doubt. 

When parson is earnestly preach- 
ing of grace, 

My fancy is busy with drawing 
a face, 

Thro’ the back of a bonnet most 
piously plain; 

“I draw it, redraw it, and draw 
it again.’ 

While the songs and the sermon 
unheeded go by,— 

All on account of a sparkling eye. 


Oh, dear little conjurer, give o’er 
your wiles, 

It is easy for you, you’re all 
blushes and smiles: 

But, love of my heart, I am sorely 
perplexed ; 

I am smiling one minute and sigh- 
ing the next; 

And if it goes on, I ’ll drop hackle 
and flail, | 

And go to the parson and tell him 
my tale. 

I warrant he’ll find me a cure 
for the sigh 

That you’re aye bringing forth 
with the glance of your eye. 


EXPECTATION 


You ’LL be wonderin’ whut’s de 
reason 
I’s a grinnin’ all de time, 
An’ I guess you t’ink my sperits 
Mus’ be feelin’ mighty prime. 


[131] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Well, I ’fess up, I is tickled 
As a puppy at his paws. 

But you need n’t think I’s crazy, 
I ain’ laffin’ ’dout a cause. 


You ’s a wonderin’ too, I reckon, 
Why I does n’t seem to eat, 
An’ I notice you a lookin’ 
Lak you felt completely beat 
When I ’fuse to tek de bacon, 
An’ don’ settle on de ham. 
Don’ you feel no feah erbout me, 
Jes’ keep eatin’, an’ be ca’m. 


Fu’ I’s waitin’ an’ I’s watchin’ 
Bout a little t’ing I see — 

D’ othah night I’s out a walkin’ 
An’ I passed a ’simmon tree. 
Now I’s whettin’ up my hongry, 

An’ I’s laffin’ fit to kill, 
Fu’ de fros’ done turned de ’sim- 
mons, 
An’ de possum ’s eat his fill. 


He done go’ged hisse’f owdacious, 
An’ he stayin’ by de tree! 
Don’ you know, ol’ Mistah Pos- 
sum 
Dat you gittin’ fat fu’ me? 
*T ain’t no use to try to ’spute it, 
"Case I knows you’s gittin’ 
sweet 
Wif ‘dat ’simmon flavoh thoo you, 
So I’s waitin’ fu’ yo’ meat. 


An’ some ebenin’ me an Towsah 
Gwine to come an’ mek a call, 


We jes’ drap in onexpected 
Fu’ to shek yo’ han’, dat’s all. 
Oh, I knows dat you ’Il be tickled, 
Seems lak I kin see you smile, 
So pwhaps I mought pu’suade you 
Fu’ to visit us a while. 


LOVER’S LANE 


SUMMAH night an’ sighin’ breeze, 
"Long de lovah’s lane; 

Frien’ly, shadder-mekin’ trees, 
"Long de lovah’s lane. 

White folks’ wo’k all done up 

gran’— 

Me an’ ’Mandy han’-in-han’ 

Struttin’ lak we owned de lan’, 
"Long de lovah’s lane. 


Owl a-settin’ ’side de road, 
"Long de lovah’s lane, 

Lookin’ at us lak he knowed 
Dis uz lovah’s lane. 

Go on, hoot yo’ mow’nful tune, 

You ain’ nevah loved in June, 

An’ come hidin’ f’om de moon 
Down in lovah’s lane. 


Bush it ben’ an’ nod an’ sway, 
Down in lovah’s lane, 

Try’n’ to hyeah me whut I say 
Long de lovah’s lane. 

But I whispahs low lak dis, 

An’ my ’Mandy smile huh bliss — 

Mistah Bush he shek his fis’, 
Down in lovah’s lane. 


[132] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Whut I keer ef day is long, 
Down in lovah’s lane. 
I kin allus sing a song 
*Long de lovah’s lane. 
An’ de wo’ds I hyeah an’ say 
Meks up fu’ de weary day 
W’en I’s strollin’ by de way, 
Down in lovah’s lane. 


An’ dis t’ought will allus rise 
Down in lovah’s lane; 

Wondah whethah in de skies 
Dey’s a lovah’s lane. 

Ef dey ain’t, I tell you true, 

*Ligion do look mighty blue, 

’Cause I do’ know whut I’d do 

__ *Dout a lovah’s lane. 


PROTEST 


WHo say my hea’t ain't true to 
you? 
Dey bettah heish dey mout. 
I knows I loves you thoo an’ thoo 
In watah time er drouf. 
I wush dese people’d stop dey 
talkin’, 
Don’t mean no mo’ dan chicken’s 
squawkin’: 
I guess I knows which way I’s 
walkin’, 
I knows de norf f’om souf. 


I does not love Elizy Brown, 
I guess I knows my min’. 
You allus try to tek me down 
Wid evaht’ing you fin’. 


Ef dese hyeah folks will keep on 
fillin’ 
Yo’ haid wid nonsense, an’ you’s 
willin’ 
I bet some day dey ’ll be a killin’ 
Somewhaih along de line. 


O’ cose I buys de gal ice-cream, 
Whut else I gwine to do? 
I knows jes’ how de t’ing ’wd 


seem 
Ef I’d be sho’t wid you., 

On Sunday, you’s at  chu’ch 
a-shoutin’, 

Den all de week you go ’roun’ 
poutin’— | 

I’s mighty tiahed o’ all dis 
doubtin’, 


I tell you cause I’s true. 


HYMN 


O Lr’ lamb out in de col’, 
De Mastah call you to de fol’, 
O ll lamb! 
He hyeah you bleatin’ on de hill; 
Come hyeah an’ keep yo’ mou’nin’ 
still, 
O li’? lamb! 


De Mastah sen’ de Shepud fo’f; 
He wandah souf, he wandah no’f, 


O 1’ lamb! 
He wandah eas, he wandah 
wes ; 


De win’ a-wrenchin’ at his breas’, 


O 1’T lamb! 


[133] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Oh, tell de Shepud whaih you hide; 
He want you walkin’ by his side, 
O lil lamb! 
He know you weak, he know you 
so’; 
But come, don’ stay away no mo’, 
O ll lamb! 


An’ af’ah while de lamb he hyeah 

De Shepud’s voice a-callin’ cleah — 
Sweet li'l’ lamb! 

He answah f’om de brambles thick, 

“© Shepud, I’s a-comin’ quick ”— 
O ll’ lamb! 


LITTLE BROWN BABY 


LitTLe brown baby wif spa’klin’ 
eyes, 
Come to yo’ pappy an’ set on his 
knee. 
What you been doin’, suh — mak- 
in’ san’ pies? 
Look at dat bib-—you’s ez 
du’ty ez me. 
Look at dat mouf— dat’s mer- 
lasses, I bet; 
Come hyeah, Maria, an’ wipe 
off his han’s. 
Bees gwine to ketch you an’ eat 
you up jit, 
Bein’ so sticky an sweet — good- 
ness lan’s! 


Little brown baby wif spa’klin’ 
eyes, 
Who’s pappy’s. darlin’ an 
who ’s pappy’s chile? 


b 


Who is it all de day nevah once 
tries 
Fu’ to be cross, er once loses dat 
smile ? 
Whah did you git dem teef? 
you’s a scamp! 
Whah did dat dimple come f’om 
in yo chin? 
Pappy do’ know you —lI b’lieves 
you ’s a tramp; 
Mammy, dis hyeah’s some ol’ 
straggler got in! 


My, 


Let ’s th’ow him outen de do’ in 
de san’, 
We do’ want stragglers a-layin’ 
’roun’ hyeah; 
Let’s gin him ’way to de big 
buggah-man; 
I know he’s hidin’ 
hyeah right neah. 
Buggah-man, buggah-man, come 


erroun’ 


in de do’, 

Hyeah’s a bad boy you kin have 
fu’ to eat. 

Mammy an’ pappy do’ want him 
no mo, 


Swaller him down f’om his haid 
to his feet! 


Dah, now, I tought dat you’d 
hug me up close. 
Go back, ol’ buggah, you sha’n’t 
have dis boy. 
He ain’t no tramp, ner no strag- 
gler, of co’se; 
He’s pappy’s pa’dner an’ play- 
mate an’ joy. 


[134] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Come to you’ pallet now — go to 
yo res’; 
Wisht you could allus know 
ease an’ cleah skies; 
Wisht you could stay jes’ a chile 
on my breas’-— 
Little brown baby wif spa’klin’ 
eyes! 


TIME TO TINKER ’ROUN’! 


SUMMAH ’S nice, wif sun a-shinin’, 
Spring is good wif greens and 


; grass, 
- An’ dey’s some t’ings nice "bout 
wintah, 
Dough hit brings de freezin’ 
blas; 


But de time dat is de fines’, 
Whethah fiel’s is green er brown, 
Is w’en de rain’s a-po’in’ 
An’ dey’s time to tinker ’roun. 


Den you men’s de mule’s ol’ 
ha’ness, 

An’ you men’s de broken chair. 
Hummin’ all de time you ’s wo’kin’ 
Some ol’ common kind o’ air. 
Evah now an’ then you looks out, 
Tryin’ mighty ha’d to frown, 
But you cain’t, you’s glad hit’s 

rainin’, 
An’ dey’s time to tinker ’roun’. 


Oh, you ’ten’s lak you so anxious 
Evah time it so’t o’ stops. 


W’en hit goes on, den you reckon 
Dat de wet ’ll he’p de crops. 
But hit ain’t de crops you’s aftah; 

You knows w’en de rain comes 
down 
hit’s too wet out fu’ 
wo kin’, 
An’ dey’s time to tinker roun’. 


Dat’s 


Oh, dey ’s fun inside de co’n-crib, 
An’ dey’s laffin’ at de ba’n; 
An’ dey’s allus some one jokin’, 

Er some one to tell a ya’n, 
Dah’s a quiet in yo’ cabin, 
Only fu’ de rain’s sof’ soun’; 
So you’s mighty blessed happy 
W’en dey’s time to tinker 
’roun’! 


THE REAL QUESTION 


Fouks is talkin’ bout de money, 
bout de silvah an’ de gold; 
All de time de season’s changin’ 
an’ de days is gittin’ cold. 
dey’s wond’rin’ ’bout de 
metals, whethah we'll have 
one er two. 
While de price o’ coal is risin’ an’ 
dey’s two months’ rent 
dat ’s due. 


An’ 


Some folks says dat gold ’s de only 
money dat is wuff de name, 
Den de othahs rise an’ tell ’em 
dat dey ought to be ashame, 


[125] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


An’ dat silvah is de only thing to 
save us f’om de powah 

Of de gold-bug ragin’ ’roun’ an’ 
seekin’? who he may de- 
vowah. 


Well, you folks kin keep on 
shoutin’ wif yo’ gold er 
silvah cry, 

But I tell you people hams is 
sceerce an’ fowls is roostin’ 
high. 

An’ hit ain’t de so’t o’ money dat 
is pesterin’ my min’, 

But de question I want answehed ’s 
how to get at any kin’! 


JILTED 


Lucy done gone back on me, 
Dat’s de way wif life. 

Evaht’ing was movin’ free, 
T’ought I had my wife. 

Den some dahky comes along, 

Sings my gal a little song, 

Since den, evaht’ing ’s gone wrong, 
Evah day dey’s strife. 


Did n’t answeh me to-day, 
W’en I called huh name, 
Would you t’ink she’d ac’ dat way 
W’en I ain’t to blame? 
Dat ’s de way dese women do, 
W’en dey fin’s a fellow true, 
Den dey ’buse him thoo an’ thoo; 
Well, hit ’s all de same. 


Somep’n’s wrong erbout my lung, 
An’ I’s glad hit’s so. 

Doctah says ’at Ill die young, 
Well, I wants to go! 

Whaut’s de use o’ livin’ hyeah, 

W’en de gal you loves so deah, 

Goes back on you clean an’ cleah — 


I sh’d like to know? 


THE NEWS 


WHuwtT dat you whisperin’ keepin’ 
f’om me? 

Don’t shut me out ’cause I’s ol’ 
an’ can’t see. 

Somep’n’s gone wrong dat’s 
a-causin’ you dread,— 

Don’t be afeared to tell — Whut! 
mastah dead? 


Somebody brung de news early 


to-day,— 

One of de sojers he led, do you 
say? 

Did n’t he foller whah ol’ mastah 
lead? 

How kin he live w’en his leadah 
is dead? 


Let me lay down awhile, dah by 
his bed; 

I wants to t’ink,— hit ain’t cleah 
in my head: — 

Killed while a-leadin’ his men into 
fight,— 

Dat’s whut you said, ain’t it, did 
I hyeah right? 


[136] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Mastah, my mastah, dead dah in 
de fiel’? 

Lif me up some,— dah, jes’ so I 
kin kneel. 

I was too weak to go wid him, dey 
said, 

Well, now I ll — fin’ him — so — 
mastah is dead. 


Yes, suh, I’s comin’ ez fas’ ez I 
kin,— 

"IT was kin’ o’ da’k, but hit’s 
lightah agin: 

P’omised yo’ pappy I'd allus tek 
keer 

Of you,— yes, mastah,—I’s fol- 
lerin’,— hyeah! 


CHRISMUS ON THE PLAN- 
TATION 


It was Chrismus Eve, I mind hit 
fu’ a mighty gloomy day — 

Bofe de weathah an’ de people — 
not a one of us was gay; 

Cose you'll tink dat’s mighty 
funny ’twell I try to mek hit 
cleah, 

Fw’ a da’ky’s allus happy when de 
holidays is neah. - 


But we wasn’t, fu’ dat mo’nin’ 
Mastah ’d tol’ us we mus’ go, 

He’d been payin’ us sence free- 
dom, but he could n’t pay no 
mo’; 


He wa’n’t nevah used to plannin’ 
*fo’ he got so po’ an’ ol’, 

So he gwine to give up tryin’, an’ 
de homestead mus’ be sol’. 


I kin see him stan’in’ now erpon 
de step ez cleah ez day, 

Wid de win’ a-kind o’ fondlin’ 
thoo his haih all thin an’ 
gray ; 

An’ I ’membah how he trimbled 
when he said, “It’s ha’d fu’ 
me, , 

Not to mek yo’ Chrismus brightah, 
but I ‘low it wa’n’t to be.”’ 


All de women was a-cryin’, an’ de 
men, too, on de sly, 

An’ I noticed somep’n shinin’ even 
in ol’ Mastah’s eye. 

But we all stood still to listen ez 
ol’ Ben come f’om de crowd 

An’ spoke up, a-try’n’ to steady 
down his voice and mek it 
loud : — 


“Look hyeah, Mastah, I’s been 
servin’ you’ fu’ lo! dese many 
yeahs, 

An’ now, sence we’s got freedom 
an’ you’s kind o’ po’, hit 
*pears 

Dat you want us all to leave you 
"cause you don’t t’ink you can 
pay. 

Ef my membry has n’t fooled me, 
seem dat whut I hyead you 
say. 


[137] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


“Er in othah wo’ds, you wants us 
to fu’git dat you’s been kin’, 
An’ ez soon ez you is he’pless, we ’s 
to leave you hyeah behin’. 
Well, ef dat ’s de way dis freedom 
ac’s on people, white er black, 
You kin jes’ tell Mistah Lincum 
fu’ to tek his freedom back. 


“We gwine wo’k dis ol’ planta- 
tion fu’ whatevah we kin git, 

Fw’ I know hit did suppo’t us, an’ 
de place kin do it yit. 

Now de land is yo’s, de hands is 
ouahs, an’ I reckon we’ll be 
brave, 

An’ we ’ll bah ez much ez you do 
wen we has to scrape an’ 
save.” 


Ol’ Mastah stood dah trimblin’, 
but a-smilin’ thoo his teahs, 

An’ den hit seemed jes’ nachul- 
like, de place fah rung wid 
cheahs, 

An’ soon ez dey was quiet, some 
one sta’ted sof’ an’ low: 
“Praise God,” an’ den we all 
jined in, “from whom all 

blessin’s flow!” 


Well, dey wasn’t no use tryin’, 
ouah min’s was sot to stay, 

An’ po’ ol’ Mastah could n’t plead 
ner baig, ner drive us ’way, 

An’ all at once, hit seemed to us, 
de day was bright agin, 

So evahone was gay dat night, an’ 
watched de Chrismus in. 


ANGELINA 


WHEN de fiddle gits to singin’ out 
a ol’ Vahginny reel, 

An’ you ’mence to feel a ticklin’ in 
yo’ toe an’ in yo’ heel; 

Ef you t’ink you got ’uligion an’ 
you wants to keep it, too, 
You jes’ bettah tek a hint an’ git 

yo’self clean out o’ view. } 

Case de time is mighty temptin’ 
when de chune is in de 
swing, 

Fw’ a darky, saint or sinner man, 
to cut de pigeon-wing. 

An’ you could n’t he’p f’om danc- 
in’ ef yo’ feet was boun’ wif 
twine, 

When Angelina Johnson comes 
a-swingin’ down de line. 


Don’t you know Miss Angelina? 
She ’s de da’lin’ of de place. 
W’y, dey ain’t no high-toned lady 
wif sich mannahs an’ sich 
grace. 
She kin move across de cabin, wif 
its planks all rough an’ wo’; 
Jes’ de same ’s ef she was dancin’ 
on ol’ mistus’ ball-room flo’. 
Fact is, you do’ see no cabin— 
- evaht’ing you see look grand, 
An’ dat one ol’ squeaky fiddle 
soun’ to you jes’ lak a ban’; 
Cotton britches look lak broadclof 
an’ a linsey dress look fine, 
When Angelina Johnson comes 
a-swingin’ down de line. 


[138] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Some folks say dat dancin’s sin- 
ful, an’ de blessed Lawd, dey 
say, 

Gwine to punish us fu’ steppin’ 
w’en we hyeah de music play. 

But I tell you I don’ b’lieve it, fu’ 
de Lawd is wise and good, 

An’ he made de banjo’s metal an’ 
he made de fiddle’s wood, 

An’ he made de music in dem, so 
I don’ quite t’ink he ’ll keer 

Ef our feet keeps time a little to 
de melodies we hyeah. 

W’y, dey’s somep’n’ downright 
holy in de way our faces 
shine, 

When Angelina Johnson comes 
a-swingin’ down de line. 


Angelina steps so gentle, Angelina 
bows so low, 

An’ she lif? huh sku’t so dainty dat 
huh shoetop skacely show: 

An’ dem teef o’ huh’n a-shinin’, ez 
she tek you by de han’— 

Go ’way, people, d’ ain’t anothah 
sich a lady in de lan’! 

When she’s movin’ thoo de figgers 
er a-dancin’ by huhse’f, 

Folks jes’ stan’ stock-still a-sta’- 
in’, an’ dey mos’ nigh hol’s 
dey bref; 

An’ de young mens, dey’s a-sayin’, 
“T’s gwine mek dat damsel 
mine,” 

When Angelina Johnson comes 
a-swingin’ down de line. 


FOOLIN’ WID DE SEASONS 


SEEMS lak folks is mighty curus 
In de way dey t’inks an’ ac’s. 
Dey jes’ spen’s dey days a-mixin’ 

Up de t’ings in almanacs. 
Now, I min’ my nex’ do’ neigh- 
bour,— 
He’s a mighty likely man, 
But he nevah t’inks o’ nuffin 
’Ceptin’ jes’ to plot an’ plan. 


All de wintah he was plannin’ 
How he’d gethah sassafras 
Jes’ ez soon ez evah Springtime 
Put some greenness in de grass. 
An’ he ’lowed a little soonah 
He could stan’ a coolah breeze 
So’s to mek a little money 
F’om de sugah-watah trees. 


In de summah, he’d be waihin’ 
Out de linin’ of his soul, 

Try ’n’ ca’ci’late an’ fashion 
How he’d git his wintah coal; 
An’ I b’lieve he got his jedgement 

Jes’ so tuckahed out an’ thinned 
Dat he t’ought a robin’s whistle 
Was de whistle of de wind. 


Why won't folks gin up dey plan- 
nin’, 

An’ jes’ be content to know 
Dat dey ’s gittin’ all dat’s fu’ dem 
In de days dat come an’ go? 
Why won’t folks quit movin’ for- 

rard? 
Ain’t hit bettah jes’ to stan’ 


[139] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


An’ be satisfied wid livin’ 
In de season dat’s at han’? 


Hit ’s enough fu’ me to listen 
W’en de birds is singin’ ’roun’, 

*Dout a-guessin’ whut ’ll happen 
W’en de snow is on de groun’. 

In de Springtime an’ de summah, 
I lays sorrer on de she’f; 

An’ I knows ol’ Mistah Wintah 
Gwine to hustle fu’ hisse’f. 


We been put hyeah fu’ a pu’pose, 
But de questun dat has riz 

An’ made lots o’ people diftah 
Is jes’ whut dat pu’pose is. 

Now, accordin’ to my reas’nin’, 
Hyeah’s de pint whaih I’s 

arriv, 

Sence de Lawd put life into us, 

We was put hyeah fu’ to live! 


MY SORT O’ MAN 


fT pon’r believe in ’ristercrats 
An’ never did, you see; 

The plain ol’ homelike sorter folks 
Is good enough fur me. 

©’ course, I don’t desire a man 
To be too tarnal rough, 

But then, I think all folks should 

know 

When they air nice enough. 


Now there is folks in this here 
world, 
From peasant up to king, 


[140] 


Who want to be so awful nice 
‘They overdo the thing. 
That ’s jest the thing that makes 
me sick, 
An’ quicker ’n a wink 
I set it down that them same 
folks 3 
Ain’t half so good ’s you 
think. 


I like to see a man dress nice, 
In clothes becomin’ too; 

I like to see a woman fix 
As women orter to do; 

An’ boys an’ gals I like to see 

Look fresh an’ young an’ 
spry,— 

We all must have our vanity 

An’ pride before we die. 


But I jedge no man by his 
clothes,— 

Nor gentleman nor tramp; 
The man that wears the finest suit 
May be the biggest scamp, 

An’ he whose limbs air clad in rags 

‘That make a mournful sight, 

In life’s great battle may have 
proved 


A hero in the fight. 


I don’t believe in ’ristercrats ; 
I like the honest tan 
That lies upon the healthful cheek 
An’ speaks the honest man; 
I like to grasp the brawny hand 
That labor’s lips have kissed, 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


For he who has not labored here 
Life’s greatest pride has 
missed : 


The pride to feel that yore own 
~ strength 
Has cleaved fur you the way 
To heights to which you were not 
born, 
But struggled day by day. 
What though the thousands sneer 
an’ scoff, 
An’ scorn yore humble birth? 
Kings are but puppets; you are 
king 
By right o’ royal worth. 


The man who simply sits an’ waits 
Fur good to come along, 
Ain’t worth the breath that one 

would take 
To tell him he is wrong. 
Fur good ain’t flowin’ round this 
world 
Fur every fool to sup; 
You ’ve got to put yore see-ers on, 
An’ go an’ hunt it up. 


Good goes with honesty, I say, 
To honour an’ to bless; 

To rich an’ poor alike it brings 
A wealth o’ happiness. 

The ’ristercrats ain’t got it all, 

Fur much to their su’prise, 
‘That ’s one of earth’s most blessed 
things 

They can’t monopolize. 


POSSUM 


EF dey’s anyt’ing dat riles me 
An’ jes’ gits me out o’ hitch, 
‘Twell I want to tek my coat off, 
-So’s to r’ar an’ t’ar an’ pitch, 
Hit’s to see some ign’ant white 
man 
*Mittin’ dat owdacious sin — 
W’en he want to cook a possum 
Tekin’ off de possum’s skin. 


W’y dey ain’t no use in talkin’, 
Hit jes’ hu’ts me to de hea’t 

Fu’ to see dem foolish people 
Th’owin’ ’way de fines’ pa’t. 

W’y, dat skin is jes’ ez tendah 

An’ ez juicy ez kin be; 

I knows all erbout de critter — 
Hide an’ haih— don’t talk to 

me! 


Possum skin is jes lak shoat skin; 

Jes’ you swinge an’ scrope it 
down, 

Tek a good sha’p knife an’ sco’ it, 
Den you bake it good an’ brown. 

Huh-uh! honey, you’s so happy 

Dat yo’ thoughts is ’mos’ a sin 

When you’s settin’ dah a-chawin’ 
On dat possum’s cracklin’ skin. 


White folks tink dey know "bout 
eatin’, As 
An’ I reckon dat dey do 
Sometimes git a little idee 
Of a middlin’ dish er two; 


[141] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


But dey ain’t a t’ing dey knows of 
Dat I reckon cain’t be beat 

W’en we set down at de table 
To a unskun possum’s meat! 


ON THE ROAD 


I’s boun’ to see my gal to-night — 
Oh, lone de way, my dearie! 
De moon ain’t out, de stars ain’t 

bright — 

Oh, lone de way, my dearie! 
Dis hoss 0’ mine is pow’ful slow, 
But when I does git to yo’ do’ 
Yo’ kiss "Il pay me back, an’ mo’, 

Dough lone de way, my dearie. 


De night is skeery-lak an’ still — 
Oh, lone de way, my dearie! 
"Cept fu’ dat mou’nful whippo’- 

will — 

Oh, lone de way, my dearie! 
De way so long wif dis slow pace, 
”T ’u’d seem to me lak savin’ grace 
Ef you was on a nearer place, 

Fu’ lone de way, my dearie. 


I hyeah de hootin’ of de owl — 

Oh, lone de way, my dearie! 

I wish dat watch-dog would n’t 
howl — 

Oh, lone de way, my dearie! 
An’ evaht’ing, bofe right an’ lef’, 
Seem p’int’ly lak hit put itse’f 
In shape to skeer me half to def — 

Oh, lone de way, my dearie! 


I whistles so ’s I won’t be feared —+ 
Oh lone de way, my dearie! 
But anyhow I’s kin’ o’ skeered, 
Fu’ lone de way, my dearie. — 
De sky been lookin’ mighty glum, 
But you kin mek hit lighten some, 
Ef youll jes’ say you’s glad I 
come, 
Dough lone de way, my dearie. 


A DEATH SONG 


Lay me down beneaf de willers in 
de grass, 
Whah de branch ’ll go a-singin’ as 
It pass. 
An’ w’en I’s a-layin’ low, 
I kin hyeah it as it go 
Singin’, “ Sleep, my honey, tek yo’ 
res’ at las’.”’ . 
Lay me nigh to whah hit meks a 
little pool, | 
An’ de watah stan’s so quiet lak 
an’ cool, 
Whah de little birds in spring, 
Ust to come an’ drink an’ sing, 
An’ de chillen waded on dey way 
to school. 


Let me settle w’en my shouldahs 
draps dey load 
Nigh enough to hyeah de noises in 
de road; 
Fu’ I t’ink de las’ long res’ 
Gwine to soothe my sperrit bes’ 
Ef I’s layin’ ’mong de t’ings I’s 
allus knowed. 


[142] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


A BACK-LOG SONG 


De axes has been ringin’ in de 
woods de blessid day, 
An’ de chips has been a-fallin’ 
fa’ an’ thick; 
Dey has cut de bigges’ hick’ry dat 
de mules kin tote away, 
An’ dey’s laid hit down and 
soaked it in de crik. 
Den dey tuk hit to de big house an’ 
dey piled de wood erroun’ 
In de fiah-place f’om ash-flo’ to 
de flue, 
While ol’ Ezry sta’ts de hymn dat 
evah yeah has got to soun’ 
When de back-log fus’ com- 
mence a-bu’nin’ thoo. 


Ol’ Mastah is a-smilin’ on de 
da’kies f’om de hall, 

Ol’ Mistus is a-stannin’ in de do’, 

An’ de young folks, males an’ 
misses, is a-tryin’, one an’ 
all, 

Fu’ to mek us feel hit ’s Chris- 
mus time fu’ sho’. 

An’ ouah hea’ts are full of pleasure, 
fu’ we know de time is 
ouahs 

Fw’ to dance er do jes’ whut we 
wants to do. 

An’ dey ain’t no ovahseer an’ no 
othah kind o’ powahs 

Dat kin stop us while dat log 
is bu’nin thoo. 


Dey ’s a-wokin’ in de qua’tahs a- 
preparin’ fu’ de feas’, 

So de little pigs is feelin’ kind o’ 
shy. 

De chickens ain’t so trus’ful ez 
dey was, to say de leas’, 

An’ de wise ol’ hens is roostin’ 
mighty high. 

You could n’t git a gobblah fu’ to 
look you in de face — 

I ain’t sayin’ whut de tuky 
’spects is true; 

But hit’s mighty dange’ous trav’- 
lin’ fu’ de critters on de 
place 

F’om de time dat log commence a 
bu’nin’ thoo. 


Some one’s tunin’ up his fiddle 

dah, I hyeah a banjo’s ring, 
An’, bless me, dat’s de tootin’ of 
a ho’n! 

Now dey ’ll evah one be runnin’ 

dat has got a foot to fling, 
An’ dey ’ll dance an’ frolic on 
fom now ’twell mo’n. 

Plunk de banjo, scrap de fiddle, 
blow dat ho’n yo’ level bes’, 

Keep yo’ min’ erpon de chune 
an’ step it true. 

Oh, dey ain’t no time fu’ stoppin’ 
an’ dey ain’t no time fu’ 
res’, 

Fu’ hit’s Chrismus an’ de back- 
log’s bu’nin’ thoo! 


[143] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


LULLABY 


BEDTIME ’s come fu’ little boys. 
Po’ little lamb. 

Too tiahed out to make a noise, 
Po’ little lamb. 

You gwine t’ have to-morrer sho’? 

Yes, you tole me dat befo’, 

Don’t you fool me, chile, no mo’, 
Po’ little lamb. 


You been bad de livelong day, 
Po’ little lamb. 

Th’owin’ stones an’ runnin’ ’way, 
Po’ little lamb. 

My, but you’s a-runnin’ wil’, 

Look jes’ lak some po’ folks chile; 

Mam’ gwine whup you atter while, 
Po’ little lamb. 


Come hyeah! you mos’ tiahed to 
def, 
Po’ little lamb. 
Played yo’se’f clean out o’ bref, 
Po’ little lamb. 
See dem han’s now — sich a sight! 
Would you evah b’lieve dey’s 
white? 
Stan’ still twell I wash ’em right, 
Po’ little lamb. 


Jes’ cain’t hol’ yo’ haid up straight, 
Po’ little lamb. 

Had n’t oughter played so late, 
Po’ little lamb. 

Mammy do’ know whut she ’d do, 

Ef de chillun’s all lak you; 

You ’s a caution now fu’ true, 

Po’ little lamb. 


Lay yo’ haid down in my lap, 
Po’ little lamb. 
Y’ ought to have a right good slap, 
Po’ little lamb. 
You been runnin’ roun’ a heap. 
Shet dem eyes an’ don’t you peep, 
Dah now, dah now, go to sleep, 
Po’ little lamb. 


THE PHOTOGRAPH 


SEE dis pictyah in my han’? 
Dat ’s my gal; 

Ain’t she purty? goodness lan’! 
Huh name Sal. 

Dat ’s de very way she be — 

Kin’ 0’ tickles me to see 

Huh a-smilin’ back at me. 


She sont me dis photygraph 
Jes’ las’ week; 
An’ aldough hit made me laugh — 
My black cheek 
Felt somethin’ a-runnin’ queer; 
Bless yo’ soul, it was a tear 
Jes’ f’om wishin’ she was here. 


Often when I’s all alone 
Layin’ here, 

I git t’inkin’ bout my own 
Sallie dear; 

How she say dat I’s huh beau, 

An’ hit tickles me to know 

Dat de gal do love me so. 


Some bright day I’s goin’ back, 
Fo’ de la! 


[144] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


An’ ez sho’ ’s my face is black, © 
Ax huh pa 

Fu’ de blessed little miss 

Who ’s a-smilin’ out o dis 

Pictyah, lak she wan’ed a kiss! 


JEALOUS 


HyYEAH come Cesar Higgins, 
Don’t he think he’s fine? 
Look at dem new riggin’s 
Ain’t he tryin’ to shine? 

Got a standin’ collar 

An’ a stove-pipe hat, 

I Il jes’ bet a dollar 

Some one gin him dat. 


Don’t one o’ you mention, 
Nothin’ ’bout his cloes, 
Don’t pay no attention, 
Er let on you knows 
Dat he’s got ’em on him, 
Why, ’t ll mek him sick, 
Jes go on an’ sco’n him, 
My, ain’t dis a trick! 


Look hyeah, whut ’s he doin’ 
Lookin’ t’ othah way? 

Dat ere move’s a new one, 
Some one call him, “ Say!” 
Can’t you see no pusson — 
Puttin’ on you’ airs, 

Sakes alive, you’s wuss’n 
ese hyeah millionaires, 


Need n’t git so flighty, 
Case you got dat suit. 
Dem cloes ain’t so mighty,— 


Second hand to boot, 

I’s a-tryin’ to spite you! 

Full of jealousy! 

Look hyeah, man, I ’ll fight 
you, 

Don’t you fool wid me! 


PARTED 


DE breeze is blowin’ ’cross de bay. 
My lady, my lady; 
De ship hit teks me far away, 
My lady, my lady; 
Ole Mas’ done sol’ me down de 
stream ; 
Dey tell me ’tain’t so bad’s hit 
seem, 
My lady, my lady. 


©’ co’se I knows dat you'll be 
true, 
My lady, my lady; 
But den I do’ know whut to do, 
My lady, my lady; 
I knowed some day we’d have to 
pat, 
But den hit put’ nigh breaks my 
hea’t, 
My lady, my lady. 


De day is long, de night is black, 
My lady, my lady; 
I know you'll wait twell I come 
back, 
My lady, my lady; 
I’ll stan’ de ship, Ill stan’ de 
chain, 


[145] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


But I’ll come back, my darlin’ 
Jane, 
My lady, my lady. 


Jes’ wait, jes’ b’lieve in whut I 
say, 
My lady, my lady; 
D’ ain’t nothin’ dat kin keep me 
way, 
My lady, my lady; 
A man’s a man, an’ love is love; 
God knows ouah hea’ts, my little 
dove; 
He’ll he’p us f’om his th’one 
above, 
My lady, my lady. 


TEMPTATION 


I DONE got ’uligion, honey, an’ I’s 
happy ez a king; 

Evahthing I see erbout me’s jes’ 
lak sunshine in de spring; 

An’ it seems lak I do’ want to do 
anothah blessid thing 

But jes’ run an’ tell de neighbours, 
an’ to shout an’ pray an’ 
sing. 


I done shuk my fis’ at Satan, an’ 
I’s gin de worl’ my back; 

I do’ want no hendrin’ causes now 
a-both’rin’ in my track; 

Fw I’s on my way to glory, an’ I 
feels too sho’ to miss. 

W’y, dey ain’t no use in sinnin’ 
when ’uligion’s sweet ez dis. 


‘Talk erbout a man backslidin’ w’en 
he ’s on de gospel way; 

No, suh, I done beat de debbil, an’ 
Temptation ’s los’ de day. ~ 

Gwine to keep my eyes right 
straight up, gwine to shet my 
eahs, an’ see 

Whut ole projick Mistah Satan’s 
gwine to try to wuk on me. 


Listen, whut dat soun’ I hyeah 
dah? ’tain’t no one commence 


to sing; 

It’s a fiddle; git erway dah! don’ 
you hyeah dat _ blessid 
thing? 


W’y, dat ’s sweet ez drippin’ honey, 
‘cause, you knows, I draws de 
bow, 

An’ when music’s sho’ ’nough 
music, I’s de one dat’s sho’ 
to know. 


W’y, I’s done de double shuffle, 
twell a body could n’t res’, 

Jes’ a-hyeahin’ Sam de fiddlah play 
dat chune his level bes’ ; 

I could cut a mighty caper, I could 
gin a mighty fling 

Jes’ right now, I’s mo’ dan suttain 
I could cut de pigeon wing. 


Look hyeah, whut’s dis I’s been 
sayin’? whut on urf’s tuk 
holt o’ me? 

Dat ole music come nigh runnin’ 
my ‘uligion up a tree! 


[146] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Cleah out wif dat dah ole fiddle, 
don’ you try dat trick agin; 

Did n’t think I could be tempted, 
but you lak to made me sin! 


POSSUM TROT 


I’ve journeyed ’roun’ consid’able, 
a-seein’ men an’ things, 

An’ I’ve learned a little of the 
sense that meetin’ people 
brings; 

But in spite of all my travellin’, 
an’ of all I think I know, 
I’ve got one notion in my head, 

that I can’t git to go; 

An’ it is that the folks I meet in 
any other spot 

Ain’t half so good as them I 
knowed back home in Possum 


Trot. 


I know you’ve never heerd the 
name, it ain't a famous 
place, 

An’ I reckon ef you’d search the 

| map you could n’t find a trace 

Of any sich locality as this I ’ve 
named to you; 

But never mind, I know the place, 
an’ I love it dearly too. 

It don’t make no pretensions to 
bein’ great or fine, 

The circuses don’t come that way, 
they ain’t no railroad line. 

It ain’t no great big city, where 
the schemers plan an’ plot, 


But jest a little settlement, this 
place called Possum Trot. 


But don’t you think the folks that 
lived in that outlandish place 

Were ignorant of all the things 
that go for sense or grace. 

Why, there was Hannah Dyer, you 
may search this teemin’ earth 

An’ never find a sweeter girl, er 
one o’ greater worth; 

An’ Uncle Abner Williams, a- 
leanin’ on his staff, 

It seems like I kin hear him talk, 
an’ hear his hearty laugh. 

His heart was big an’ cheery as a 
sunny acre lot, 

Why, that’s the kind o’ folks we 
had down there at Possum 


Trot. 


Good times? Well, now, to suit 
my taste,— an’ I’m some hard 
to suit,— 

There ain’t been no sich pleasure 
sence, an’ won’t be none to 
boot, 

With huskin’ bees in Harvest time, 
an’ dances later on, 

An’ singin’ school, an taffy pulls, 
an’ fun from night till 
dawn. 

Revivals come in winter time, bap- 
tizin’s in the spring, 

You ’d ought to seen those people 
shout, an’ heerd ’em pray an’ 
sing ; 


[147] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


You ’d ought to ’ve heard ole Par- 
son Brown a-throwin’ gospel 
shot 

Among the saints an’ sinners in 
the days of Possum Trot. 


We live up in the city now, my 
wife was bound to come; 

I hear aroun’ me day by day the 
endless stir an’ hum. 

I reckon that it done me good, an’ 
yet it done me harm, 

That oil was found so plentiful 
down there on my ole farm. 

We ’ve got a new-styled preacher, 
our church is new-styled too, 

An’ I’ve come down from what | 
knowed to rent a cushioned 
pew. 

But often when I’m settin’ there, 

it’s foolish, like as not, 

To think of them ol’ benches in 

the church at Possum Trot. 


I know that I’m ungrateful, an’ 
sich thoughts must be a sin, 

But I find myself a wishin’ that 
the times was back agin. 

With the huskin’s an’ the frolics, 
an’ the joys I used to know, 

When [I lived at the settlement, a 
dozen years ago. 

I don’t feel this way often, I’m 
scarcely ever glum, 

For life has taught me how to take 
her chances as they come. 
But now an’ then my mind goes 

back to that ol’ buryin’ plot, 


That holds the dust of some I 
loved, down there at Possum 


Trot. 


DELY 


Jes’ lak toddy wahms you thoo’ 
Sets yo’ haid a reelin’, 

Meks you ovah good and new, 
Dat ’s de way I’s feelin’. 
Seems to me hit’s summah time, 
Dough hit’s wintah reely, 
I’s a feelin’ jes’ dat prime — 

An’ huh name is Dely. 


Dis hyeah love ’s a cu’rus thing, 
Changes ’roun’ de season, 
Meks you sad or meks you sing, 

*Dout no urfly reason. 
Sometimes I go mopin’ ’roun’, 

Den agin I ’s leapin’; 
Sperits allus up an’ down 

Even when I’s sleepin’. 


Fu’ de dreams comes to me den, 
An’ dey keeps me pitchin’, 

Lak de apple dumplin’s w’en 
Bilin’ in de kitchen. 

Some one sot to do me hahm, 
Tryin’ to ovahcome me, 

Ketchin’ Dely by de ahm 


So’s to tek huh f’om me. 


Mon, you bettah b’lieve I fights 
(Dough hit ’s on’y seemin’) ; 

I’s a hittin’ fu’ my rights 
Even w’en I’s dreamin’. 


[148] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


But I’d let you have ’em all, 
Give ’em to you freely, 

Good an’ bad ones, great an’ small, 
So’s you leave me Dely. 


Dely got dem meltin’ eyes, 
Big an’ black an’ tendah. 

Dely jes’ a lady-size, 
Delikit an’ slendah. 

Dely brown ez brown kin be 
An’ huh haih is curly; 

Oh, she look so sweet to me,— 
Bless de precious girlie! 


Dely brown ez brown kin be, 
She ain’ no mullatter; 
She pure cullud,— don’ you see 
Dat ’s jes’ whut ’s de mattah? 
Dat ’s de why I love huh so, 
D’ ain’t no mix about huh, 
Soon ’s you see huh face you know 
D’ ain’t no chanst to doubt huh. 


Folks dey go to chu’ch an’ pray 
So’s to git a blessin’. 

Oomph, dey bettah come my way, 
Dey could lu’n a lesson. 

Sabbaf day I don’ go fu’, 
Jes’ to see my pigeon; 

I jes’ sets an’ looks at huh, 
Dat ’s enuff ’uligion. 


BREAKING THE CHARM 


CAUGHT Susanner whistlin’; well, 
It’s most nigh too good to tell. 
*T would ’a’ b’en too good to see 
Ef it had n’t b’en fur me, 


Comin’ up so soft an’ sly 

That she didn’ hear me nigh. 

I was pokin’ ’round that day, 

An’ ez I come down the way, 

First her whistle strikes my ears,— 

Then her gingham dress appears; 

So with soft step up I slips. 

Oh, them dewy, rosy lips! 

Ripe ez cherries, red an’ round, 

Puckered up to make the sound. 

She was lookin’ in the spring, 

Whistlin’ to beat anything,— 

“Kitty Dale” er “In the Sweet.” 

I was jest so mortal beat 

That I can’t quite ricoleck 

What the toon was, but I ’speck 

*T’ was some hymn er other, fur 

Hymny things is jest like her. 

Well she went on fur awhile 

With her face all in a smile, 

An’ I never moved, but stood 

Stiller ’n a piece o’ wood — 

Would n’t wink ner would n’t stir, 

But a-gazin’ right at her, 

Tell she turns an’ sees me — my! 

Thought at first she’d try to fly. 

But she blushed an’ stood her 
ground, 

Then, a-slyly lookin’ round, 

She says: “Did you hear me, 
Ben?” 

“Whistlin’ woman, crowin’ hen,” 

Says I, lookin’ awful stern.. 

Then the red commenced to burn 

In them cheeks 0’ hern. Why, la! 

Reddest red you ever saw — 

Pineys wa’n’t a circumstance. 


[149] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


You ’d ’a’ noticed in a glance 

She was pow’rful shamed an’ 
skeart ; 

But she looked so sweet an’ peart, 

That a idee struck my head; 

So I up an’ slowly said: 

“Woman whistlin’ brings shore 


harm, 

Jest one thing ’Il break the charm.” 

SAnd wewhat’s thatt jo On 
my)", says 1, 

“I don’t like to tell you.” 
(5 Why? 9) 


Says Susanner. “ Well, you see 

It would kinder fall on me.” 

Course I knowed that she’d in- 
sist,— 

So I says: “ You must be kissed 

By the man that heard you whistle; 

Everybody says that this Il 

Break the charm and set you free 

From the threat’nin’ penalty.” 

She was blushin’ fit to kill, 

But she answered, kinder still: 

“T don’t want to have no harm, 

Please come, Ben, an’ break the 
charm.” 

Did I break that charm? — oh, 
well, 

There’s some things I mustn't 
tell. 

I remember, afterwhile, 

Her a-sayin’ with a smile: 

“Oh, you quit,— you sassy dunce, 

You jest caught me whistlin’ once.” 

Ev’ry sence that when I hear 

Some one whistlin’ kinder clear, 


I most break my neck to see 

Ef it’s Susy; but, dear me, 

I jest find I ’ve b’en to chase 

Some blamed boy about the place. 

Dad ’s b’en noticin’ my way, 

An’ last night I heerd him say: 

“We must send fur Dr. Glenn, 

Mother; somethin’s wrong with 
Ben!” 


HUNTING SONG 


TEK a cool night, good an’ 
cleah, 
Skiff o’ snow upon de groun’; 
Jes’ ’bout fall-time o’ de yeah 
W’en de leaves is dry an 
brown; 
Tek a dog an’ tek a axe, 
Tek a lantu’n in yo’ han’, 
Step light whah de switches 
cracks, 
Fu’ dey’s huntin’ in de lan’. 
Down thoo de valleys an’ ovah de 
hills, 
Into de woods whah de ’simmon- 
tree grows, 
Wakin’ an’ skeerin’ de po’ whip- - 
po wills, 
Huntin’ fu’ coon an’ fu’ ’possum 
we goes. 


Blow dat ho’n dah loud an’ 
strong, 
Call de dogs an’ da’kies neah; 
Mek its music cleah an’ long, 
So de folks at home kin hyeah. 


[150] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Blow it twell de hills an’ trees 
Sen’s de echoes tumblin’ back; 
Blow it twell de back’ard breeze 
Tells de folks we’s on de 
track. 
Coons is a-ramblin’ an’ ’possums 
is out; 
Look at dat dog; you could set 
on his tail! 
Watch him now — steady,— min’ 
— what you’s about, 
Bless me, dat animal’s got on 
de trail! 


Listen to him ba’kin now! 
Dat means bus’ness, sho ’s you 
bo’n; 
Ef he’s struck de scent I ‘low 
Dat ere ‘possum ’s sholy gone. 
Knowed dat dog fu’ fo’teen 
yeahs, 
An’ I nevah seed him fail 
W’en he sot dem flappin’ eahs 
An’ went off upon a trail. 
Run, Mistah ’Possum, an’ run, 
Mistah Coon, 
No place is safe fu’ yo’ ramblin’ 
to-night ; 
Mas’ gin’ de lantu’n an’ God gin 
de moon, 
An’ a long hunt gins a good ap- 
petite. 


Look hyeah, folks, you hyeah 
dat change? 
Dat ba’k is sha’per dan de res’. 
Dat ere soun’ ain’t nothin’ 
strange,— 


Dat dog’s talked his level 


bes’. 
Somep’n’ ’s treed, I know de 
soun’. 
Dah now,—wha’d I tell 
you? see! 
Dat ere dog done run him 
down; 
Come hyeah, he’p cut down 
dis tree. 
Ah, Mistah ’Possum, we got you 
at las’— 


Need n’t play daid, laying dah 
on de groun’; 
Fros’ an’ de ’simmons has made 
you grow fas’,— 
Won’t he be fine when he’s 


roasted up brown! 


A LETTER 


Dear Miss Lucy: I been t’inkin’ 
dat Id write you long fo’ dis, 

But dis writin’ ’s mighty tejous, an’ 
you know jes’ how it is. 

But I’s got a little lesure, so I teks 
my pen in han’ 

Fu’ to let you know my feelin’s 
since I retched dis furrin’ lan’. 

I’s right well, I’s glad to tell you 
(dough dis climate ain’t to 
blame), 

An’ I hopes w’en dese lines reach 
you, dat dey ’ll fin’ yo’ se’f de 
same, 

Cose I’se feelin kin’ 0’ homesick 
— dat’s ez nachul ez kin be, 


[151] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


W’en a feller’s mo’n th’ee thou- 
sand miles across dat awful 
sea. 

(Don’t you let nobidy fool you 
*bout de ocean bein’ gran’; 

If you want to see de billers, you 
jes’ view dem f’om de lan’.) 

’Bout de people? We been t’inkin’ 
dat all white folks was alak; 

But dese Englishmen is diffunt, 
an’ dey ’s curus fu’ a fac’. 

Fust, dey ’s heavier an’ redder in 
dey make-up an’ dey looks, 

An’ dey don’t put salt nor pepper 
in a blessed t’ing dey cooks! 

W’en dey gin you good ol’ tu’nips, 
ca’ots, beets, an’ 
sich, 

Ef dey ain’t some one to tell you, 
you cain’t ’stinguish which is 
which. 

W’en I t’ought I’s eatin’ chicken 
— you may b’lieve dis hyeah ’s 
a lie — 

But de waiter beat me down dat I 

was eatin’ rabbit pie. 

dey ’d t’ink dat you was crazy 

— jes’ a reg’ lar ravin’ loon, 

Ef you’d speak erbout a ’possum 
or a piece o’ good ol’ coon. 

O, hit’s mighty nice, dis trav’lin’, 
an’ I’s kin’ o’ glad I come. 

But, I reckon, now I’s willin’ fw’ 
to tek my way back home. 

I done see de Crystal Palace, an’ 
I’s hyeahd dey string-band 
play, 


9 * 
pa snips, 


An 


But I has n’t seen no banjos layin’ 
nowhahs roun’ dis way. 
Jes’ gin ol’ Jim Bowles a banjo, 
an’ he’d not go very fu’, 
’Fo’ he’d outplayed all dese fid- 
dlers, wif dey flourish and 
dey stir. 

Evahbiddy dat I’s met wif has 
been monst’ous kin an’ good; 

But I tink I’d lak it better to be 
down in Jones’s wood, 

Where we ust to have sich frolics, 
Lucy, you an’ me an’ Nelse, 

Dough my appetite ’ud call me, ef 
dey wasn’t nuffin else. 

I’d jes’ lak to have some sweet- 
pertaters roasted in de skin; 

I’s a-longin’ fu’ my chittlin’s an’ 
my mustard greens ergin; 

I’s a-wishin’ fu’ some buttermilk, 
an’ con braid, good an’ 
brown, 

An’ a drap o’ good ol’ bourbon fu’ 
to wash my feelin’s down! 

An’ I’s comin’ back to see you jes’ 
as ehly as I kin, 

So you better not go spa’kin’ wif 
dat wuffless scoun’el Quin! 

Well, I reckon, I mus’ close now; 
write ez soon’s dis reaches 
you; 

Gi’ my love to Sister Mandy an’ 
to Uncle Isham, too. 

Tell de folks I sen’ ’em howdy; 
gin a kiss to pap an’ mam; 

Closin’ I is, deah Miss Lucy, 

Still Yo? Own True-Lovin’ SAm, 


[152] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


P.S. Ef you cain’t mek out dis 
letter, lay it by erpon de she’f, 
An’ when I git home, I ’ll read 


it, darlin’, to you my own se’. 


CHRISMUS IS A-COMIN’ 


Bones a-gittin’ achy, 
Back a-feelin’ col’, 
Han’s a-growin’ shaky, 
Jes’ lak I was ol’. 

Fros’ erpon de meddah 
Lookin’ mighty white; 
Snowdraps lak a feddah 
Slippin’ down at night. 
Jes’ keep t’ings a-hummin 
Spite o’ fros’ an’ showahs, 
Chrismus is a-comin’ 


An’ all de week is ouahs. 


b] 


Little mas’ a-axin’, 
“Who is Santy Claus?” 
Meks it kin’ o’ taxin’ 

Not to brek de laws. 
Chillun’s pow’ful tryin’ 
To a pusson’s grace 

W’en dey go a pryin’ 
Right on th’oo you’ face 
Down ermong yo’ feelin’s; 
Jes’ ’pears lak dat you 
Got to change you’ dealin’s 
So’s to tell ’em true. 


An’ my pickaninny — 
Dreamin’ in his sleep! 

Come hyeah, Mammy Jinny, 
‘Come an’ tek a peep. 


Ol’ Mas’ Bob an’ Missis 
In dey house up daih 

Got no chile lak dis is, 

D’ ain’t none anywhaih. 
Sleep, my little lammy, 
Sleep, you little limb, 

He do’ know whut mammy 
Done saved up fu’ him. 


Dey ’Il be banjo pickin’, 
Dancin’ all night thoo. 
Dey ’1l be lots o’ chicken, 
Plenty tukky, too. 
Drams to wet yo’ whistles 
So’s to drive out chills. 
Whut I keer fu’ drizzles 
Fallin’ on de hills? 

Jes’ keep t’ings a-hummin’ 
Spite o’ col’ an’ showahs, 
Chrismus day ’s a-comin’, 
An’ all de week is ouahe 


A CABIN TALE 


THE YOUNG MASTER ASKS FOR A 
STORY 


WHUT you say, dah? huh, uh! 
chile, 

You ’s enough to dribe me wile. 

Want a sto’y; jes’ hyeah dat! 

Whah’ ’ll I git a sto’y at? 

Di’n’ I tell you th’ee las’ night? 

Go ’way, honey, you ain’t right. 

I got somep’n’ else to do, 

’Cides jes’ tellin’ tales to you. 

Tell you jes’ one? Lem me see 

Whut dat one’s a-gwine to be. 


[153] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


When you’s ole, yo membry fails; 

Seems lak I do’ know no tales. 

Well, set down dah in dat cheer, 

Keep still ef you wants to hyeah. 

Tek dat chin up off yo’ han’s, 

Set up nice now. Goodness lan’s! 

Hol’ yo’se’f up lak yo’ pa. 

Bet nobidy evah saw 

Him scrunched down lak you was 
den — 

High-tone boys meks high-tone 
men. 


Once dey was a ole black bah, 

Used to live ’roun’ hyeah some- 
whah 
In a cave. He was so big 
He could ca’y off a pig 
Lak you picks a chicken up, 
Er yo’ leetles’ bit 0’ pup. 
An’ he had two gread big eyes, 
Jes’ erbout a saucer’s size. 
Why, dey looked lak balls o’ fiah 
Jumpin’ ’roun’ erpon a wiah 
'W’en dat bah was mad; an’ laws! 
But you ought to seen his paws! 
Did I see ’em? How you ’spec 
I’s a-gwine to ricollec’ 
Dis hyeah ya’n I’s try’n’ to spin 
Ef you keeps on puttin’ in? 
You keep still an’ don’t you cheep 
Less I ’Il sen’ you off to sleep. 
Dis hyeah bah’d go trompin’ 
’roun’ 

Eatin’ evahthing he foun’; 
No one could n’t have a fa’m 
But dat bah ’u’d do’ em ha’m; 


And dey could n’t ketch de scamp. 
Anywhah he wan’ed to tramp. 
Dah de scoun’el ’d mek his track, 
Do his du’t an’ come on back. 
He was sich a sly ole limb, 
‘Traps was jes’ lak fun to him. 


Now, down neah whah Mistah 
Bah 
Lived, dey was a weasel dah; 
But dey wasn’t fren’s a-tall 
Case de weasel was so small. 
An’ de bah ’u’d, jes’ fu’ sass, 
Tu’n his nose up w’en he’d pass. 
Weasels ’s small o’ cose, but my! 
Dem air animiles is sly. 
So dis hyeah one says, says he, 
“‘T’Il jes’ fix dat bah, you see.” 
So he fixes up his plan 
An’ hunts up de fa’merman. 
When de fa’mer see him come, 
He ’mence lookin’ mighty glum, 
An’ he ketches up a stick; 
But de weasel speak up quick: 
“ Hol’ on, Mistah Fa’mer man, 
I wan’ ’splain a little plan. 
Ef you waits, I’ll tell you whah 
An’ jes’ how to ketch ol’ Bah. 
But I tell yow now you mus’ 
Gin me one fat chicken fus’.”’ 
Den de man he scratch his haid, 
Las’ he say, “ I’ll mek de trade.” 
So de weasel et his hen, 
Smacked his mouf and 
“Well, den, 

Set yo’ trap an’ bait ternight, 
An’ I'll ketch de bah all right.” 


says, 


[154] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Den he ups an’ goes to see 
Mistah Bah, an’ says, says he: 
“Well, fren’ Bah, we ain’t been 
fren’s, 
But ternight ha’d feelin’ ’en’s. 
Ef you ain’t too proud to steal, 
We kin git a splendid meal. 
Cose I would n’t come to you, 
But it mus’ be done by two; 
Hit ’s a trap, but we kin beat 
All dey tricks an’ git de meat.” 
“Cose I’s wif you,” says de bah, 
“Come on, weasel, show me 
whah.” 
Well, dey trots erlong ontwell 
Dat air meat beginned to smell 
In de trap. Den weasel say: 
“Now you put yo’ paw dis way 
While I hol’ de spring back so, 
Den you grab de meat an’ go.” 
Well, de bah he had to grin 
Ez he put his big paw in, 
Den he juked up, but — kerbing! 
Weasel done let go de, spring. 
“Dah now,” says de weasel, “ dah, 
I done cotched you, Mistah Bah!” 
O, dat bah did sno’t and spout, 
Try’n’ his bestes’ to git out, 
But de weasel say, “ Goo’-bye! 
Weasel small, but weasel sly.” 
Den he tu’ned his back an’ run 
Tol’ de fa’mer whut he done. 
So de fa’mer come down dah, 


Wif a axe and killed de bah. 


Dah now, ain’t dat sto’y fine? 
Run erlong now, nevah min’. 


Want some mo’, you rascal, you? 


No, suh! no, suh! dat ’ll do. 


AT CANDLE-LIGHTIN’ 
TIME 


WHEN I come in f’om de co’n-fiel’ 
aftah wo’kin’ ha’d all day, 

It’s amazin’ nice to fin’ my sup- 
pah all erpon de way; 

An’ it’s nice to smell de coffee 
bubblin’ ovah in de pot, 

An’ it’s fine to see de meat a- 
sizzlin’ teasin’-lak an’ hot. 


But when suppah-time is ovah, an’ 
de t’ings is cleahed away; 
Den de happy hours dat foller are 
de sweetes’ of de day. 
When my co’ncob pipe is sta’ted, 
an’ de smoke is 
prime, 

My ole ’ooman says, ‘‘I reckon, 
Ike, it’s candle-lightin’ time.” 


drawin’ 


Den de chillun snuggle up to me, 
an’ all commence to call, 
“Oh, say, daddy, now it’s time 

to mek de shadders on de 
wall.” 
So I puts my han’s togethah — 
evah daddy knows de way,— 
An’ de chillun snuggle closer roun’ 
ez I begin to say: — 


“Fus’ thing, hyeah come Mistah 
Rabbit; don’ you see him wo’k 
his eahs? 


[155] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Huh, uh! dis mus’ be a donkey,— 


look, how innercent he ’pears! 

Dah’s de ole black swan a-swim- 
min’— ain’t she got a’ awful 
neck? 

Who’s dis feller dat’s a-comin’? 
Why, dat’s ole dog Tray, I 
Aspects 

Dat ’s de way I run on, tryin’ fu’ 
to please ’em all I can; 

Den I hollahs, ‘ Now be keerful 
—dis hyeah las’ ’s de buga- 
man! ” 

An’ dey runs an’ hides dey faces; 
dey ain’t skeered — dey’s let- 
tin’ on: 

But de play ain’t raaly ovah twell 
dat buga-man is gone. 


So I jes’ teks up my banjo, an’ I 
plays a little chune, 

An’ you see dem haids come peepin’ 
out to listen mighty soon. 
Den my wife says, “ Sich a pappy 
fu’ to give you sich a fright! 
Jes, you go to baid, an’ leave him: 
say yo prayers an’ say good- 

night.” 


WHISTLING SAM 


I HAs hyeahd o’ people dancin’ an’ 
I’s hyeahd o’ people singin’. 

An’ I’s been ’roun’ lots of othahs 
dat could keep de_ banjo 
ringin’ ; 


But of all de whistlin’ da’kies dat 
have lived an’ died since Ham, 

De whistlin’est I evah seed was 
ol’ Ike Bates’s Sam. 

In de kitchen er de stable, 
fiel’ er mowin’ hay, 

You could hyeah dat boy a-whis- 
tlin’ pu’ty nigh a mile er- 
way,— 

Puck’rin’ up his ugly features 
’twell you could n’t see his 
eyes, 

Den you’d hyeah a soun’ lak dis 
un f’om dat awful puckah 
rise : 


a. = 


When dey had revival meetin’ an’ 
de Lawd’s good grace was 
flowin’ 

On de groun’ dat needed wat’rin’ 
whaih de seeds of good was . 
growin , 

While de othahs was a-singin’ an’ 
a-shoutin’ right an’ lef’, 
You could hyeah dat boy a-whis- 

tlin’ kin’ o’ sof’ beneaf his 


bref: 


— 


in de 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


At de call fu’ colo’ed soldiers, 
Sam enlisted ’mong de res’ 

Wid de blue o’ Gawd’s great ahmy 
wropped about his swellin’ 
breas’, 

An’ he laffed an’ whistled loudah 
in his youfful joy an’ glee 

Dat de govament would let him 
he’p to mek his people free. 

Daih was lots o’ ties to bin’ him, 
pappy, mammy, an’ his 
Dinah,— 

Dinah, min’ you, was his sweet- 
hea’t, an’ dey wasn’t nary 
finah ; 

But he lef’ ’em all, I tell you, lak 
a king he ma’ched away, 
Try’n’ his level bes’ to whistle, 

happy, solemn, choky, gay: 


o a = Seas 


To de front he went an’ bravely 
fought de foe an’ kep’ his 
sperrit, ; 

An’ his comerds said his whistle 
made ’em strong when dey 
could hyeah it. 

When a saber er a bullet cut some 
frien’ o’ his’n down, 

An’ de time ’u’d come to trench 
him an’ de boys ’u’d gethah 
’roun’, 


An’ dey could n’t sta’t a hymn- 
tune, mebbe none o’ dem 
’u'd keer, 

Sam ’u’d whistle ‘‘ Sleep in Jesus,” 
an’ he knowed de Mastah’d 
hyeah. 

In de camp, all sad discouraged, 
he would cheer de hea’ts of 
all, 

When above de soun’ of labour 
dey could hyeah his whistle 
call: 





When de cruel wah was ovah an’ 
de boys come ma’chin’ back, 

Dey was shouts an’ cries an’ 
blessin’s all erlong dey happy 
track, 

An’ de da’kies all was happy; souls 
an’ bodies bofe was freed. 
Why, hit seemed lak de Redeemah 

mus’ ’a’ been on earf indeed. 
Dey was gethahed all one evenin’ 
jes’ befo’ de cabin do’, 


When dey hyeahd somebody 
whistlin’ kin’ o’ sof’ an’ sweet 
an’ low. 

Dey could n’t see de whistlah, but 
de hymn was cleah and 
ca’m, 

An’ dey all stood daih a-listenin’ 
ontwell Dinah shouted, 
(79 Sam! ” 


[157] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


An’ dey seed a little da’ky way off 
yandah thoo de trees 

Wid his face all in a puckah mekin’ 
jes’ sich soun’s ez dese: 


HOW LUCY BACKSLID 


DE times is mighty stirrin’ ’mong 
de people up ouah way, 

Dey ’sputin’ an’ dey argyin’ an’ 
fussin’ night an’ day; 

An’ all dis monst’ous trouble dat 
hit meks me tiahed to tell 

Is bout dat Lucy Jackson dat was 
sich a mighty belle. 


She was de preachah’s favoured, 
an’ he tol’ de chu’ch one 
night 

Dat she travelled thoo de cloud o’ 
sin a-bearin’ of a light; 

But, now, I ’low he t’inkin’ dat she 
mus’ ’a’ los’ huh lamp, 

Case Lucy done backslided an’ dey 
trouble in de camp. 


Huh daddy wants to beat huh, but 
huh mammy daihs him to, 

Fw’ she lookin’ at de question fom 
a ooman’s pint o’ view; — 

An’ she say dat now she would n’t 
have it diffent ef she could; 

Dat huh darter only acted jes’ lak 
any othah would. 


Cose you know w’en women argy, 
dey is mighty easy led 

By dey hea’ts an’ don’t go foolin’ 
bout de reasons of de haid. 

So huh mammy laid de law down 
(she ain’ reckernizin’ wrong), 

But you got to mek erlowance fu’ 
de cause dat go along. 


Now de cause dat made Miss Lucy 
fu’ to th’ow huh grace away 

I’s afeard won’t baih no ’spection 
w’en hit come to jedgement 
day; 

Do’ de same t’ing been a-wo’kin’ 
evah sence de worl’ began,— 

De ooman disobeyin’ fu’ to ’tice 
along a man. 


Ef you ’tended de revivals which 
we held de wintah pas’, 

You kin rickolec’ dat convuts was 
a-comin’ thick an’ fas’; 

But dey ain’t no use in talkin’, dey 
was all lef’ in de lu’ch 

W’en ol’? Mis’ Jackson’s dartah 
foun’ huh peace an’ tuk de 
chu’ch. 


W’y, she shouted ovah evah inch 
of Ebenezah’s flo’; 
Up into de preachah’s pulpit an’ 
f’om dah down to de do’; 
Den she hugged an’ squeezed huh 
mammy, an’ she hugged an’ 
kissed huh dad, 

An’ she struck out at huh sistah, 
people said, lak she was mad. 


[158] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


I has ’tended some revivals dat 
was lively in my day, 

An’ I’s seed folks git ’uligion in 
mos’ evah kin’ 0’ way; 

But I tell you, an’ you b’lieve me 
dat I’s speakin’ true indeed, 

Dat gal tuk huh ’ligion ha’dah dan 
de ha’dest yit I’s seed. 


Well, fom dat, ’t was “ Sistah 
Jackson, won’t you please do 
dis er dat?” 

She mus’ allus sta’t de singin’ 
wen dey’d pass erroun’ de 
hat, 

An’ hit seemed dey wasn’t nuffin’ 
in dat chu’ch dat could go by 

*Dout sistah Lucy Jackson had a 
finger in de pie. 


But de sayin’ mighty trufeful dat 
hit easiah to:sail 

W’en de sea is ca’m an’ gentle dan 
to weathah out a gale. 

Dat’s whut made dis ooman’s 
trouble; ef de sto’m had kep’ 
away, 

She ’d ’a’ had enough “uligion fu’ 

to lasted out huh day. 


Lucy went wid ’Lishy Davis, but 
wen she jined chu’ch, you 
know 

Dah was lots o’ little places dat, of 
cose, she could n’t go; 

An’ she had to gin up dancin’ an’ 
huh singin’ an’ huh play.— 


Now hit ’s nachul dat sich goin’s- 
on ‘ud drive a man away. 


So, w’en Lucy got so solemn, Ike 
he sta’ted fw’ to go 

Wid a gal who was a sinnah an’ 
could mek a bettah show. 

Lucy jes’ went on to meetin’ lak 
she did n’t keer a rap, 

But my ’sperunce kep’ me t’inkin’ 
dah was somep’n’ gwine to 
drap. 


Fu’ a gal won’t let ’uligion er no 
othah so’t o’ t’ing 

Stop huh w’en she teks a notion 
dat she wants a weddin’ ring. 

You kin p’omise huh de blessin’s 
of a happy aftah life 

(An’ hit ’s nice to be a angel), but 
she ’d ravah be a wife. 


So w’en Chrismus come an’ mas- 
tah gin a frolic on de lawn, 

Did n’t ’sprise me not de littlest 
seein’ Lucy lookin’ on. 

An’ I seed a wa’nin’ lightnin’ go 
a-flashin’ f’om huh eye 

Jest ez ’Lishy an’ his new gal went 
a-gallivantin’ by. 


An’ dat Tildy, umph! she giggled, 
an’ she gin huh dress a flirt 

Lak de people she was passin’ was 
ez common ez de dirt; 

An’ de minit she was dancin’, w’y 
dat gal put on mo’ aihs 

Dan a cat a-tekin’ kittens up a 
paih o’ windin’ staihs. 


[159] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


She could ’fo’d to show huh 
sma’tness, fu’ she could n’t 
he’p but know 

Dat wid jes’ de present dancahs 
she was ownah of de flo’; 

But I t’ink she’d kin’ o’ cooled 
down ef she happened on de 
sly 

Fw’ to noticed dat ’ere lightnin’ 
dat I seed in Lucy’s eye. 


An’ she would n’t been so ’ston- 
ished w’en de people gin a 
shout, 

An’ Lucy th’owed huh mantle 
back an’ come a-glidin’ out. 

Some ahms was dah to tek huh an’ 
she fluttahed down de flo’ 

Lak a feddah f’om a bedtick w’en 


de win’ commence to blow. 


Soon ez Tildy see de trouble, she 
jes’ tu’n an’ toss huh haid, 

But seem lak she los’ huh sperrit, 
all huh darin’ness was daid. 

Did n’t cut anothah capah nary 
time de blessid night; 

But de othah one, hit looked lak 
could n’t git enough delight. 


W’en you keeps a colt a-stan’nin’ 
in de stable all along, 
W’en he do git out hit’s nachul 


he ll be pullin’ mighty strong. 


Ef you will tie up yo’ feelin’s, 
hyeah ’s de bes’ advice to tek, 
Look out fu’ an awful loosin’ w’en 
de string dat hol’s ’em brek. 


Lucy’s mammy groaned to see huh, 
an’ huh pappy sto’med an’ to’, 

But she kep’ right on a-hol’in’ to 
de centah of de flo’. 

So dey went an’ ast de pastoh ef he 
could n’t mek huh quit, 

But de tellin’ of de sto’y th’owed 
de preachah in a fit. 


Tildy Taylor chewed huh hank’- 
cher twell she ’d chewed it in 
a hole,— 

All de sinnahs was rejoicin’ ’cause 
a lamb had lef’ de fol’, 

An’ de las’ I seed 0’ Lucy, she an’ 
’Lish was side an’ side: 

I don’t blame de gal fu’ dancin’, 
an’ I could n’t ef I tried. 


Fu’ de men dat wants to ma’y 
ain’t a-growin’ ’roun’ on 
trees, 

An’ de gal dat wants to git one 
sholy has to try to please. 

Hit ’s a ha’d t’ing fu’ a ooman fu’ 
to pray an’ jes’ set down, 

An’ to sacafice a husban’ so’s to 
try to gain a crown. 


Now, I don’ say she was justified 
in follerin’ huh plan; 

But aldough she los’ huh ’ligion, 
yit she sholy got de man. 

Latah on, w’en she is suttain dat 
de preachah ’s made ’em fas’ 

She kin jes’ go back to chu’ch an’ 
ax fu’giveness fu’ de pas’! 


S160] 








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TWO LITTLE BOOTS 


‘Two little boots all rough an’ wo’, 
Two little boots! 

Law, I’s kissed ’em times befo’, 
Dese little boots! 

Seems de toes a-peepin’ thoo 

Dis hyeah hole an’ sayin’ “ Boo!” 

Evah time dey looks at you — 
Dese little boots. 


Membah de time he put ’em on, 
Dese little boots; 
Riz an’ called fu’ ’em by dawn, 
Dese little boots; 
Den he tromped de livelong day, 
Laffin’ in his happy way, 
Evaht’ing he had to say, 
“My little boots! ” 


Kickin’ de san’ de whole day long, 
Dem little boots; 

Good de cobblah made ’em strong, 
Dem little boots! 

Rocks was fu’ dat baby’s use, 

T’on had to stan’ abuse 

W’en you tu’ned dese champeens 

loose, 

Dese little boots! 


Ust to make de ol’ cat cry, 
Dese little boots; 

Den you walked it mighty high, 
Proud little boots! 

Ahms akimbo, stan’in’ wide, 


Eyes a-sayin’ “ Dis is pride!” 
Den de manny-baby stride! 
You little boots. 


Somehow, you don’ seem so gay, 
Po’ little boots, 
Sence yo’ ownah went erway, 
Po’ little boots! 
Yo’ bright tops don’ look so red, 
Dese brass tips is dull an’ dead; 
““Goo’-by,” whut de baby said; 
Deah little boots! 


Ain’t you kin’ o’ sad yo’se’f, 
You little boots? 
Dis is all his mammy’’s lef’, 
Two little boots. 
Sence huh baby gone an’ died. 
Heav’n itse’f hit seem to hide 
Des a little bit inside 
Two little boots. 


TO THE ROAD 


Coot is the wind, for the summer 
is waning, 
Who’s for the road? 
Sun-flecked and soft, where the 
dead leaves are raining, 
Who’s for the road? 
Knapsack and_ alpenstock press 
hand and shoulder, 
Prick of the brier and roll of the 
boulder ; 


[163] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


This be your lot till the season 


grow older; 
Who’s for the road? 


Up and away in the hush of the 
morning, 
Who’s for the road? 
Vagabond he, all conventions a- 
scorning, 


Who’s for the road? 


Music of warblers so merrily sing- 


ing, 
Draughts from the rill from the 
roadside up-springing, 
Nectar of grapes from the vines 
lowly swinging, 
‘These on the road. 


Now every house is a hut or a 
hovel, . 
Come to the road: 
Mankind and moles in the dark 
love to grovel, 
But to the road. 
Throw off the loads that are bend- 
ing you double; 
Love is for life, only labor is 
trouble; 
Truce to the town, whose best gift 
is a bubble: 
Come to the road! 


A SPRING WOOING 


Come on walkin’ wid me, Lucy; 
*tain’t no time to mope 
erroun’ 


W’en de_ sunshine’s 
glory in de sky, 
An’ de little Johnny-Jump-Ups ’s 


shoutin’ 


jes’ a-springin’ f’om de 
groun’, 

Den a-lookin’ roun’ to ax each 
othah w’y. 


Don’ you hyeah dem cows a- 
mooin’? Dat’s dey howdy 
to de spring; 
Ain’ dey lookin’ most oncom- 
mon satisfied? 
Hit ’s enough to mek a body want 
to spread dey mouf an’ 
sing 
to see de critters all so 
spa’klin’-eyed. 


Jes’ 


W’y dat squir’l dat jes’ run past 
us, ef I didn’ know his 
tricks, 
I could swaih he ’d got ’uligion 
jes’ to-day; 

An’ dem liza’ds slippin’ back an’ 
fofe ermong de stones an’ 
sticks 

Is a-wigglin’ ’cause dey feel so 
awful gay. 

Oh, I see yo’ eyes a-shinin’ dough 
you try to mek me b’lieve 

Dat you ain’ so monst’ous happy 
cause you come; 

But I tell you dis hyeah weathah 
meks it moughty ha’d to 
celve 

Ef a body’s soul ain’ blin’ an’ 
deef an’ dumb. 


[164] 








PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Robin whistlin’ ovah yandah ez he 
buil’ his little nes’; 
Whut you reckon dat he sayin’ 
to his mate? 
He’s a-sayin’ dat he love huh in de 
wo’ds she know de bes’, 
An’ she lookin’ moughty pleased 
at whut he state. 
Now, Miss Lucy, dat ah robin 
sholy got his sheer o’ sense, 
An’ de hen-bird got huh 
mothah-wit fu’ true; 
So I t’ink ef you Il ixcuse me, fu’ 
I do’ mean no erfence, 
Dey ’s a lesson in dem birds fu’ 
me an’ you. 


I’s a-buil’in’ 0’ my cabin, an’ I’s 
vines erbove de do’ 
Fu’ to kin’ o’ gin it sheltah f’om 
de sun; 
Gwine to have a little kitchen wid 
a reg’ lar wooden flo’, 
An’ dey’ll be a back verandy 
w’en hit’s done. 


I’s a-waitin’ fu’ you, Lucy, tek de 


*zample o’ de birds, 
Dat ’s a-lovin’ an’ a-matin’ evah- 
whaih. 
I cain’ tell you dat I loves you in 
de robin’s music wo’ds, 
But my cabin’s talkin’ fw’ me 
ovah thaih! 


JOGGIN’ ERLONG 


De da’kest hour, dey allus say, 
Ts des’ befo’ de dawn, 


But it’s moughty ha’d a-waitin’ 

W’ere de night goes frownin’ 
on; 

An’ it’s moughty ha’d a-hopin’ 

W’en de clouds is big an’ black, 

An’ all de t’ings you’s waited fu’ 

Has failed, er gone to wrack — 

But des’ keep on a-joggin’ wid a 
little bit o’ song, 

De mo’n is allus brightah w’en de 
night ’s been long. 


Dey ’s lots 0’ knocks you’s got to 
tek 

Befo’ yo’ journey ’s done, 

An’ dey’s times w’en you'll be 
wishin’ 

Dat de weary race was run; 

W’en you want to give up tryin’ 

An’ des’ float erpon de wave, 

W’en you don’t feel no mo’ sorrer 

Ez you t’ink erbout de grave — 

Den, des’ keep on a-joggin’ wid a 
little bit o’ song, 

De mo’n is allus brightah w’en de 
night ’s been long. 


De whup-lash sting a good deal 
mo’ 

De back hit ’s knowed befo’, 

An’ de burden’s allus heavies’ 

Whaih hits weight has made a 
so’; 

Dey is times w’en tribulation 

Seems to git de uppah han’ 

An’ to whip de weary trav lah 

*T well he ain’t got stren’th to 
stan’— 


[165] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


But des’ keep on a-joggin’ wid a 
little bit o’ song, 

De mo’n is allus brightah w’en de 
night ’s been long. 


IN MAY 


OH to have you in May, 
To talk with you under the 
trees, 
Dreaming throughout the day, 
Drinking the wine-like breeze, 


Oh it were sweet to think 

‘That May should be ours again, 
Hoping it not, I shrink, 

Out of the sight of men. 


May brings the flowers to bloom, 
It brings the green leaves to the 
tree, 
And the fatally sweet perfume, 
Of what you once were to me. 


DREAMS 


iWuatT dreams we have and how 
they fly 
Like rosy clouds across the sky; 
Of wealth, of fame, of sure suc- 
cess, 
Of love that comes to cheer 
and bless; 
And how they wither, how they 
fade, 
The waning wealth, the jilting 
jade — 


The fame that for a moment 
gleams, 

Then flies forever,— dreams, ah 
— dreams! 


O burning doubt and long regret, 
O tears with which our eyes are 
wet, 
Heart-throbs, heart-aches, 
glut of pain, 
The somber cloud, 
rain, 
You were not of those dreams — 
ah! well, 
Your full fruition who can tell? 
Wealth, fame, and love, ah! 
love that beams 
Upon our souls, all dreams — 
ah! dreams. 


the 


the bitter 


THE [Rye 


De night creep down erlong de 
lan’, 

De shadders rise an’ shake, 

De frog is sta’tin’ up his ban’, 
De cricket is awake; 

My wo’k is mos’ nigh done, Celes’, 
To-night I won’t be late, 

I’s hu’yin’ thoo my level bes’, 
Wait fu’ me by de gate. 


De mockin’-bird ’Il sen’ his glee 
A-thrillin’ thoo and thoo, 

I know dat ol’ magnolia-tree 
Is smellin’ des’ fu’ you; 

De jessamine erside de road 
Is bloomin’ rich an’ white, 


[166 | 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


My hea’t’s a-th’obbin’ ’cause it 
knowed 
You ’d wait fu’ me to-night. 


Hit ’s lonesome, ain’t it, stan’in’ 
thaih 
Wid no one nigh to talk? 
But ain’t dey whispahs in de aih 
Erlong de gyahden walk? 
Don’t somep’n kin’ o’ call my 
name, 

An’ say “he love you bes’ ”’? 
Hit’s true, I wants to say de 
same, 

So wait fu’ me, Celes’. 


Sing somep’n fu’ to pass de time, 
Outsing de mockin’-bird, 

You got de music an’ de rhyme, 
You beat him wid de word. 
I’s comin’ now, my wo’k is done, 
De hour has come fu’ res’, 

I wants to fly, but only run — 


Wait fu’ me, deah Celes’. 


A PLEA 


TREAT me nice, Miss Mandy 
Jane, 
Treat me nice. 
Dough my love has tu’ned my 
brain, 
Treat me nice. 
T ain’t done a t’ing to shame, 
Lovahs all ac’s jes’ de same: 
Don’t you know we ain’t to blame? 
Treat me nice! 


Cose I know I’s talkin’ wild; 
Treat me nice; 

I cain’t talk no bettah, child, 
Treat me nice; 

Whut a pusson gwine to do, 

W’en he come a-cou’tin’ you 

All a-trimblin’ thoo and thoo? 
Please be nice. 


Reckon I mus’ go de paf 
Othahs do: 
Lovahs lingah, ladies laff; 
Mebbe you 
Do’ mean all the things you say, 
An’ puw’haps some latah day 
W’en I baig you ha’d, you may 
‘Treat me nice! 


THE DOVE 
Out of the sunshine and out of 
the heat, 
Out of the dust of the grimy 
street, 
A song fluttered down in the form 
of a dove, 


And it bore me a message, the one 
word — Love! 


Ah, I was toiling, and oh, I was 
sad: 

I had forgotten the way to be glad. 

Now, smiles for my sadness and 
for my toil, rest 

Since the dove fluttered down to 
its home in my breast! 


[167] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


A WARM DAY IN WINTER 


“SUNSHINE on de medders, 
Greenness on de way; 
Dat ’s de blessed reason 
I sing all de day.” 
Look hyeah! Whut you axin’? 
Whut meks me so merry? 
*Spect to see me sighin’ 
W’en hit ’s wa’m in Febawary? 


"Long de stake an’ rider 
Seen a robin set; 
W’y, hit ’mence a-thawin’, 
Groun’ is monst’ous wet. 
Den you stan’ dah wond’rin’, 
Lookin’ skeert an’ stary; 
I’s a right to caper 
W’en hit ’s wa’m in Febawary. 


Missis gone a-drivin’, 
Mastah gone to ‘shoot; 
Ev’ry da’ky lazin’ 
In de sun to boot. 
Qua’tah’s moughty pleasant, 
Hangin’ ’roun’ my Mary; 
Cou’tin’? boun’ to prospah 
W’en hit ’s wa’m in Febawary. 


Cidah look so pu’ty 
Po’in’ fom de jug — 
Don’ you see it’s happy? 
Hyeah it lafin’— glug? 
Now ’s de time fu’ people 
Fw’ to try an’ bury 
All dey grief an’ sorrer, 
W’en hit ’s wa’m in Febawary. 


SNOWIN’ 


Dery is snow upon de meddahs, 
dey is snow upon de hill, 

An’ de little branch’s watahs is 
all glistenin’ an’ still; 

De win’ goes roun’ de cabin lak a 
sperrit wan’erin’ ’roun’. 

An’ de chillen shakes an’ shivahs 
as dey listen to de soun’. 
Dey is hick’ry in de fiahplace, 

whah de blaze is risin’ high, 
But de heat it meks ain’t wa’min’ 
up de gray clouds in de sky. 
Now an’ den I des peep outside, 
den I hurries to de do’, 
Lawd a mussy on my body, how I 
wish it would n’t snow! 


I kin stan’ de hottes’ summah, I 
kin stan’ de wettes’ fall, 

I kin stan’ de chilly springtime in 
de ploughland, but dat’s 
all; 

Fu’ de ve’y hottes’ fiah nevah tells 
my skin a t’ing, 

W’en de snow commence a-flyin’, 
an’ de win’ begin to sing. 

Dey is plenty wood erroun’ us, an’ 
I chop an’ tote it in, 

But de t’oughts dat I’s a t’inkin’ 
while I’s wo’kin’ is a sin. 

I kin keep fom downright swahin’ 
all de time I’s on de go, 

But my hea’t is full 0’ cuss-wo’ds 
wen I’s trampin’ thoo de 
snow. 


[168] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


What you say, you Lishy Davis, 
dat you see a possum’s tracks? 

Look hyeah, boy, you stop yo’ 
foolin’, bring ol’ Spot, an’ 
bring de ax. 

Is I col’? Go way, now, Mandy, 
what you tink I’s made of? 
— sho, 

'W’y dis win’ is des ez gentle, an’ 
dis ain’t no kin’ 0’ snow. 

Dis hyeah weathah ’s des ez healthy 
ez de wa’mest summah days. 

All you chillen step up lively, pile 
on wood an’ keep a blaze. 

What ’s de use o’ gittin’ skeery 
case dey’s snow upon de 
groun’? 

Huh-uh, I’s a reg’lar snowbird ef 
dey ’’s any possum ’roun’. 


Go on, Spot, don’ be so foolish; 
don’ you see de signs o’ feet. 

What you howlin’ fu? Keep still, 
suh, cose de col’ is putty 
sweet ; 

But we goin’ out on bus’ness, an’ 
hit ’s bus’ness o’ de kin’ 
Dat mus’ put a dog an’ dahky in 
a happy frame o’ min’. 

Yes, you’s col’; I know it, Spotty, 

but you des stay close to me, 
An’ I’ll mek you hot ez cotton 
wen we strikes de happy tree. 
No, I don’ lak wintah weathah, 
an’ I’d wush ’t uz allus 
June, 
Ef it wasn’t fu’ de trackin’ o’ de 
possum an’ de coon. 


KEEP A SONG UP ON DE 
WAY 


On, de clouds is mighty heavy 
An’ de rain is mighty thick; 
Keep a song up on de way. 
An’ de waters is a rumblin’ 
On de boulders in de crick, 
Keep a song up on de way. 
Fu’ a bird ercross de road 
Is a-singin’ lak he knowed 
Dat we people didn’t daih 
Fu’ to try de rainy aih 
Wid a song up on de way. 


What ’s de use 0’ gittin’ mopy, 
Case de weather ain’ de bes’! 
Keep a song up on de way. 
W’en de rain is fallin’ ha’des’, 
Dey ’s de longes’ times to res’ 
Keep a song up on de way. 
Dough de plough’s a-stan’in’ still 
Dey ’1ll be watah fu’ de mill, 
Rain mus’ come ez well ez sun 
"Fo’ de weathah’s wo’k is done, 
Keep a song up on de way. 


W’y hit ’s nice to hyeah de showahs 
Fallin’ down ermong de trees: 
Keep a song up on de way. 
Ef de birds don’ bothah ’bout it, 
But go singin’ lak dey please, 
Keep a song up on de way. 
You don’ s’pose I’s gwine to see 
Dem ah fowls do mo’ dan me? 
No, suh, I ll des chase dis frown, 
An’ aldough de rain fall down, 
Keep a song up on de way. 


[169] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


THE TURNING OF THE 
BABIES IN THE BED 


Woman’s sho’ a cur’ous critter, 
an’ dey ain’t no doubtin’ dat. 

She’s a mess o’ funny capahs f’om 
huh slippahs to huh hat. 

Ef you tries to un’erstan’ huh, an’ 
you fails, des’ up an’ say: 
“D’ ain’t a bit o’ use to try to 

un’erstan’ a woman’s way.” 


I don’ mean to be complainin’, but 
I’s jes’ a-settin’ down 

Some o’ my own obserwations, 
w’en I cas’ my eye eroun’. 

Ef you ax me fu’ to prove it, i 
ken do it mighty fine, 

Fu’ dey ain’t no bettah ’zample 
den dis ve’y wife o’ mine. 


In de ve’y hea’t o’ midnight, w’en 
I’s sleepin’ good an’ soun’, 

I kin hyeah a so’t o’ rustlin’ an’ 
somebody movin’ ’roun’. 

An’ I say, “ Lize, whut you do- 
in’?”’ But she frown an’ shek 
huh haid, 

“ Heish yo’ mouf, I’s only tu’nin’ 


of de chillun in de bed. 


“ Don’ you know a chile gits rest- 
less, layin’ all de night one 
way? 

An’ yow’ got to kind o’ ’range him 
sev’al times befo’ de day? 

So de little necks won’t worry, an’ 
de little backs won’t break; 


Don’ you t’ink case chillun ’s chil- 
lun dey hain’t got no pain an’ 
ache.” 


So she shakes ’em, an’ she twists 
"em, an’ she tu’ns ’em ’roun’ 
erbout, 

*T well I don’ see how de chillun 
evah keeps f’om hollahin’ out. 

Den she lif’s ’em up head down- 
’ards, so’s dey won't git livah- 
grown, 

But dey snoozes des’ ez peaceful 
ez a liza’d on a stone. | 


W’en hit’s mos’ nigh time fu’ 
wakin’ on de dawn o’ jedg- 
ment day, 

Seems lak I kin hyeah ol’ Gab’iel 
lay his trumpet down an’ say, 

‘Who dat walkin’ ’roun’ so easy, 
down on earf ermong de 
dead? ”»— 

*T will be Lizy up a-tu’nin’ of de 
chillun in de bed. 


THE DANCE 


HEEL and toe, heel and toe, 
That is the song we sing; 
‘Turn to your partner and curtsey 
low, 
Balance and fotward and swing. 
Corners are draughty and meadows 
are white, 
This is the game for a winter’s 
night. 


[170] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Hands around, hands around, 
Trip it, and not too slow; 
Clear is the fiddle and sweet its 
sound, 
Keep the girls’ cheeks aglow. 
Still let your movements be dainty 
and light, 
This is the game for a winter’s 
night. 


Back to back, back to back, 
Turn to your place again; 
Never let lightness nor nimble- 
ness lack, 
Either in maidens or men. 
Time hasteth ever, beware of its 
flight, 
Oh, what a game for a winter’s 
night! 


Slower now, slower now, 
Softer the music sighs; 
Look, there are beads on your 
partner’s brow 


Though there be light in her 


eyes. 

Lead her away and her grace re- 
quite, 

So goes the game on a winter’s 
night. 


SOLILOQUY OF A TURKEY 


Dey ’s a so’t 0’ threatenin’ feelin’ 
in de blowin’ of de breeze, 
An’ I’s feelin’ kin’ 0’ squeamish 
in de night; 


I’s a-walkin’ ’roun’ a-lookin’ at 
de diffunt style o’ trees, 
An’ a-measurin’ dey thickness 
an’ dey height. 
Fw’ dey ’s somep’n mighty ’spicious 
in de looks de da’kies give, 
Ez dey pass me an’ my fambly 
on de groun,’ 
So it ’curs to me dat lakly, ef I 
caihs to try an’ live, 
It concehns me fu’ to ’mence to 
look erroun’, 


Dey’s a cwious kin’ o’ shivah 
runnin’ up an’ down my back, 
An’ I feel my feddahs rufflin’ 
all de day, 
An’ my laigs commence to trimble 
evah blessid step I mek; 
W’en I sees a ax, I tu’ns my 
head away. 


_ Folks is go’gin’ me wid goodies, 


an’ dey ’s treatin’ me wid caih, 
An’ I’s fat in spite of all dat I 
kin do. 
I ’s mistrus’ful of de kin’ness dat ’s 
erroun’ me evahwhaih, 
Fu’ it’s jes’ too good, an’ fre- 
quent, to be true. 


Snow ’s a-fallin’ on de medders, all 
erroun’ me now is white, 
But I’s still kep’ on a-roostin’ 
on de fence; 
Isham comes an’ feels my breas’- 
bone, an’ he hefted me las’ 
night, 


[171] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


An’ he’s gone erroun’ a-grinnin’ 
evah sence. 
*T ain’t de snow dat meks me 


shivah; ’tain’t de col’ dat 
meks me shake; 
"T ain't de wintah-time itse’f 


dat ’s ’fectin’ me; 
But I tink de time is comin’, 
an’ I’d bettah mek a break, 
Fu’ to set wid Mistah Possum 
in his tree. 


W’en you hyeah de da’kies singin’, 
an’ de quahtahs all is gay, 
*T ain’t de time fu’ birds lak me: 
to be ’erroun’; 
W’en de hick’ry chips is flyin’, an’ 
de log’s been ca’ied erway, 
Den hit ’s dang’ous to be roostin’ 
nigh he groun’. 


Grin on, Isham! Sing on, da’k- 
ies! But I flop my wings an’ 
go 

Fu’ de sheltah of de ve’y high- 
est tree, 

Fu’ dey ’s too much close ertention 
—an’ dey’s too much fallin’ 
snow — 

An’ it’s too nigh Chris’mus 
mo’nin’ now fu’ me. 


FISHING 


W’eN I git up in de mo’nin’ an’ 
de clouds is big an’ black, 
Dey ’s a kin’ 0’ wa’nin’ shivah goes 
a-scootin’ down my back; 


Den I says to my ol’ ooman ez I 
watches down de lane, 

“Don’t you so’t 0’ reckon, Lizy, 
dat we gwine to have some 
rain?” 


“Go on, man,” my Lizy answah, 
“you cain’t fool me, not a 
bit, 

I don’t see no rain a-comin’, ef 
you ’s wishin’ fu’ it, quit; 
Case de mo’ you t’ink erbout it, an 
de mo’ you pray an’ wish, 
W’y de rain stay "way de longah, 

spechul ef you wants to fish.” 


But I see huh pat de skillet, an’ I 
see huh cas’ huh eye 

Wid a kin’ 0’ anxious motion to’ds 
de da’kness in de sky; 

An’ I knows whut she’s a-t’inkin’, 
dough she tries so ha’d to 
hide. 

She’s a-sayin’, ‘‘ Would n’t catfish 
now tas’e monst’ous bully, 
fried?” 


Den de clouds git black an’ black- 
ah, an’ de thundah ’mence to 


roll, 

An’ de rain, it ’mence a-fallin’. 
Oh, I’s happy, bless my 
soul! 


Ez I look at dat ol’ skillet, an’ I 
’magine I kin see 

Jes’ a slew o’ new-ketched catfish 
sizzlin’ daih fw’ huh an’ me. 


[172] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


’T ain’t no use to go a-ploughin’, 
fu’ de groun’ ‘ll be too 
wet, 

So I puts out fu’ de big house at 
a moughty pace, you bet, 

An’ ol’ mastah say, ‘“‘ Well, Lishy, 
ef you tink hit’s gwine to 
rain, 

Go on fishin’, hit’s de weathah, 
an’ I ‘low we cain’t com- 
plain.” 


Talk erbout a dahky walkin’ wid 
his haid up in de aih! 

Have to feel mine evah minute to 
be sho’ I got it daih; 

En’ de win’ is cuttin’ capahs an’ 
a-lashin’ thoo de trees, 

But de rain keeps on a-singin’ 
blessed songs, lak “ Tek yo’ 
ease.” 


Wid my pole erpon my shouldah 
an’ my wom can in my 
han’, 

I kin feel de fish a-waitin’ w’en I 
strikes de rivah’s san’; 

Nevah min’, you ho’ny scoun’els, 
need n’ swim erroun’ an’ 
grin, 

I'll be grinnin’ in a minute w’en I 
*mence to haul you in. 


W’en de fish begin to nibble, an’ 
de co’k begin to jump, 

I’s erfeahed dat dey ’ll quit bitin’, 
case dey hyeah my hea’t go 
$6 thump,” 


*Twell de co’k go way down 
undah, an’ I raise a awful 
shout, 

Ez a big ol’ yallah belly comes a 
gallivantin’ out. 


Need n’t wriggle, Mistah Catfish, 
case I got you jes’ de same, 

You been eatin’, I ’ll be eatin’, an’ 
we needah ain’t to blame. 

But you need n’t feel so lonesome 
fu’ I ’s th’owin’ out to see 

Ef dey ain’t some of yo’ comrades 
fu’ to keep you company. 


Spo’t, dis fishin’! now you talkin’, 
w’y dey ain’t no kin’ to beat; 
I don’ keer ef I is soakin’, laigs, 
an’ back, an’ naik, an’ feet, 
It’s de spo’'t I’s lookin’ aftah. 
Hit ’s de pleasure an’ de fun, 
Dough I knows dat Lizy’s waitin’ 
wid de skillet w’en I’s done. 


A PLANTATION 
PORTRAIT 


HAIN’T you see my Mandy Lou, 
Is it true? 

Whaih you been f’om day to day, 
Whaih, I say? 

Dat you say you nevah seen 
Dis hyeah queen 

Walkin’ roun’ f’om fiel’ to street 
Smilin’ sweet? 


Slendah ez a saplin’ tree; 
Seems to me 


[173] 


‘THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


W’en de win’ blow f’om de bay 
She jes’ sway 

Lak de reg’lar saplin’ do 
Ef hit’s grew 

Straight an’ graceful, ’dout a limb, 
Sweet an’ slim. 


Browner den de frush’s wing, 
An’ she sing 

Lak he mek his wa’ble ring 
In de spring; 

But she sholy beat de frush, 
Hyeah me, hush: 

W’en she sing, huh teef kin show 
White ez snow. 


Eyes ez big an’ roun’ an’ bright 
Ez de light 

Whut de moon gives in de prime 
Harvest time. 

An’ huh haih a woolly skein, 
Black an’ plain. 

Hol’s you wid a natchul twis’ 
Close to bliss. 


Tendah han’s dat mek yo’ own 
Feel lak stone; 

Easy steppin’, blessid feet, 
Small an’ sweet. 

Hain’t you seen my Mandy Lou, 
Is it true? 

Look at huh befo’ she’s gone, 
Den pass on! 


A LITTLE CHRISTMAS 
BASKET 


DE win’ is hollahin’ “ Daih you” 
to de shuttahs an’ de fiah, 


De snow ’s a-sayin’ “ Got you” to 
de groun’, 

Fu’ de wintah weathah’s come 
widout a-askin’ ouah de- 
siah, 

An’ he’s laughin’ in his sleeve 
at whut he foun’; 

Fu’ dey ain’t nobody ready wid 
dey fuel er dey food, 

An’ de money bag look timid 
lak, fu’ sho’, . 

So we want ouah Chrismus 
sermon, but we’d lak it ef 
you could 

Leave a little Chrismus basket 
at de do’. 


Wha’s de use o’ tellin’ chillen 

*bout a Santy er a Nick, 
An’ de sto’ies dat a body allus 
tol’? 

When de harf is gray wid ashes 
an’ you hasn’t got a stick 

Fw’ to warm dem when dey 
little toes is col’? 

Wha’s de use 0’ preachin’ ’ligion 
to a man dat’s sta’ved to 
def, 

An’ a-tellin? him de Mastah 
will pu’vide? 

Ef you want to tech his feelin’s, 
save yo’ sermons an’ yo’ 
bref, 

Tek a little Chrismus basket by 


yo’ side. 


*T ain’t de time to open Bibles an’ 
to lock yo’ cellah do’, 


[174] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


*T ain’t de time to talk o’ bein’ 
good to men; 

Ef you want to preach a sermon 
ez you nevah preached 
befo’, 

Preach dat sermon wid a shoat 
er wid er hen; 

Bein’ good is heap sight bettah den 
a-dallyin’ wid sin, 

An’ dey ain’t nobody roun’ dat 
knows it mo’, 

But I tink dat ’ligion’s sweeter 
w’en it kind o’ mixes in 

Wid a little Chrismus basket at 
de do’. 


THE VALSE 


WHEN to sweet music my lady 
is dancing 
My heart to mild frenzy her 
beauty inspires. 
Into my face are her brown eyes 
a-glancing, 
swift my whole frame 
thrills with tremulous fires. 
Dance, lady, dance, for the mo- 
ments are fleeting, 
Pause not to place yon refractory 
curl; 
Life is for love and the night is 
for sweeting; 
Dreamily, joyously, circle and 
whirl. 


And 


Oh, how those viols are throbbing 
and pleading; 


A prayer is scarce needed in 
sound of their strain. 


Surely and lightly as round you 


are speeding, 
You turn to confusion my heart 
and my brain. 
Dance, lady, dance to the viol’s 
soft calling, 
Skip it and trip it as light as the. 
air; 
Dance, for the moments like rose 
leaves are falling, 
Strikes, now, the clock from its 
place on the stair. 


Now sinks the melody lower and 
lower, 

Weary musicians 
seeming to play. 
Ah, love, your steps now are 

slower and slower, 

The smile on your face is more 

sad and less gay. 
Dance, lady, dance to the brink of 
our parting, 

My heart and your step must not 

fail to be light. 
Dance! Just a turn—tho’ the 
tear-drop be starting. 

Ah—now it is done —so— 

my lady, good-night! 


The 


scarce 


REPONSE 


WHEN Phyllis sighs and from her 
eyes | 

The light dies out; my soul re 
plies 


[175] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


With misery of deep-drawn breath, 
E’en as it were at war with 


death. 


When Phyllis smiles, her glance 
beguiles 
My heart through love-lit wood- 
land aisles, 
And through the silence high and 
clear, 
A wooing warbler’s song J hear. 


But if she frown, despair comes 
down, 

I put me on my sack-cloth gown; 

So frown not, Phyllis, lest I die, 

But look on me with smile or 
sigh. 


MY SWEET BROWN GAL 


W’EN de clouds is hangin’ heavy 
in de sky, 

An’ de win’s’s a-taihin’ moughty 
vig’rous by, 

I don’ go a-sighin’ all erlong de 
way ; 

I des’ wo’k a-waitin’ fu’ de close 
o day. 


Case I knows w’en evenin’ draps 
huh shadders down, 

I won’ care a smidgeon fu’ de 
weathah’s frown; 

Let de rain go splashin’, let de 
thundah raih, 

Dey’s a happy sheltah, an’ I’s 
goin’ daih. 


Down in my ol’ cabin wa’m ez 
mammy’s toas’, 

*Taters in de fiah layin’ daih to 
roas.’ 

No one daih to cross me, got no 
talkin’ pal, 

But I’s got de comp’ny o’ my 
sweet brown gal. 


So I spen’s my evenin’ listenin’ to 
huh sing, 

Lak a blessid angel; how huh 
voice do ring! 

Sweetah den a bluebird flutterin’ 
erroun’, 

W’en he sees de steamin’ o’ de 
new ploughed groun’, 


Den I hugs huh closah, closah to 
my breas’. 

Need n’t sing, my da’lin’, tek you’ 
hones’ res’. 

Does I mean Malindy, Mandy, 
Lize er Sal? 

No, I means my fiddle — dat’s 
my sweet brown gal! 


SPRING FEVER 


GRASS commence a-comin’ 
Thoo de thawin’ groun’, 
Evah bird dat whistles 
Keepin’ noise erroun’; 
Cain’t sleep in de mo’nin’, 
Case befo’ it’s light 
Bluebird an’ de robin, 
Done begun to fight. 


[176] 








PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Bluebird sass de robin, 
Robin sass him back, 
Den de bluebird scol’ him 
*T well his face is black. 
Would n’ min’ de quoilin’ 
All de mo’nin’ long, 
’Cept it wakes me early, 
Case hit ’s done in song. 


Anybody wo’kin’ 
Wants to sleep ez late 
Ez de folks ’ll ‘low him, 
An’ I wish to state 
(Co’se dis ain’t to scattah, 
But ’twix’ me an’ you), 
I could stan’ de bedclothes, 
Kin’ o’ latah, too. 


*T ain’t my natchul feelin’, 
Dis hyeah mopin’ spell. 
I stan’s early risin’ 
Mos’ly moughty well; 
But de ve’y minute, 
I feel Ap’il’s heat, 
Bless yo’ soul, de bedclothes 
Nevah seemed so sweet. 


Mastah, he’s a-scol’in’, 
Case de han’s is slow, 
All de hosses balkin’, 
Jes’ cain’t mek ’em go. 
Don’ know whut ’s de mattah, 
Hit ’s a funny t’ing, 
Less’n hit ’s de fevah 
Dat you gits in spring. 


THE VISITOR 


LitTue lady at de do’, 
W’y you stan’ dey knockin’? 
Nevah seen you ac’ befo’ 
In er way so shockin’. 
Don’ you know de sin it is 
Fu’ to git my temper riz 
W’en I’s got de rheumatiz 
An’ my jints is lockin’? 


No, ol’ Miss ain’t sont you down, 
Don’ you tell no story; 
I been seed you hangin’ ’roun’ 
Dis hyeah te’itory. 
You des come fu’ me to tell 
You a ttale, an’ I ain’— 
well — 
Look hyeah, what is dat I 
smell ? 
Steamin’ victuals? 


Glory! 


Come in, Missy, how you do? 
Come up’ by de fiah, 
I was jokin’, chile, wid you; 
Bring dat basket nighah. 
Huh uh, ain’t dat lak ol’ 
Miss, 
Sen’in’ me a feas’ lak dis? 
Rheumatiz cain’t stop my 
bliss, 
Case I’s feelin’ spryah. 


Chicken meat an’ gravy, too, 
Hot an’ still a-heatin’; 
Good ol’ sweet pertater stew; 
Missy b’lieves in treatin’, 
Des set down, you blessed 
chile, 


[177] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Daddy got to t’ink a while, 
Den a story mek you smile 
W’en he git thoo eatin’. 


SONG 


WINTAH, 
shine, 
Hit ’s all de same to me, 
Ef only I kin call you mine, 
An’ keep you by my knee. 


summah, snow. er 


Ha’dship, frolic, grief er caih, 
Content by night an’ day, 
Ef only I kin see you whaih 
You wait beside de way. 


Livin’, dyin’, smiles er teahs, 
My soul will still be free, 
Ef only thoo de comin’ yeahs 
You walk de worl’ wid me. 


Bird-song, breeze-wail, chune er 
moan, 
What puny t’ings dey ’ll be, 
Ef w’en I’s seemin’ all erlone, 
I knows yo’ hea’t’s wid me. 


THE COLORED BAND 


W’rn de colo’ed ban’ comes 
ma’chin’ down de street, 


Don’t you people stan’ daih 
starin’; lif? yo’ feet! 
Ain’t dey playin’? Hip, hoo- 


ray! 


Stir yo’ stumps an’ cleah de 
way, 
Fu’ de music dat dey mekin’ can’t 
be beat. 


Oh, de major man’s a-swingin’ 
of his stick, 
An’ de_ pickaninnies 
roun’ him thick; 
In his go’geous uniform, 
He’s de lightnin’ of de sto’m, 
An’ de little clouds erroun’ look 
mighty slick. 


crowdin’ 


You kin hyeah a fine perfo’mance 
w’en de white ban’s sere- 
nade, 

An’ dey play dey high-toned 
music mighty sweet, 

But hit’s Sousa played in rag- 
time, an’ hit’s Rastus on 
Parade, 

W’en de colo’ed ban’ comes 
ma’chin’ down de street. 


W’en de colo’ed ban’ comes ma’ch- 
in’ down de street 
You kin hyeah de ladies all erroun’ 
repeat: 
“ Ain’t dey handsome? 
dey gran’? 
Ain’t dey splendid? Goodness, 
lan’! 
W’y dey’s pu’fect fom dey fo’- 
heads to dey feet!” 
An’ sich steppin’ to de music down 
de line, 


Ain’t 


[178] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


*T ain’t de music by itself dat meks 
it fine, 

Hit ’s de walkin’, step by step, 

An’ de keepin’ time wid “ Hep,” 

Dat it mek a common ditty soun’ 
divine. 


_ Qh, de white ban’ play hits music, 
an’ hit’s mighty good to 
hyeah, 

An’ it sometimes leaves a ticklin’ 
in yo’ feet; 

But de hea’t goes into bus’ness fu’ 
to he’p erlong de eah, 

W’en de colo’ed ban’ goes ma’ch- 
in’ down de street. 


TO A VIOLET FOUND ON 
ALL SAINTS’ DAY 


BELATED wanderer of the ways of 
spring, 
Lost in the chill of grim No- 
vember rain, 
Would I could read the message 
that you bring 


And find in it the antidote for 
pain. 


Does some sad spirit out beyond 
the day, 
Far looking to the hours forever 
dead, 
Send you a tender offering to lay 
Upon the grave of us, the liv- 
ing dead? 


Or does some brighter spirit, un- 

forlorn, 
Send you, my little sister of the 

wood, 

To say to some one on a cloudful 
morn, 

 “Tife lives through death, my 
brother, all is good?” 


With meditative hearts the others 


gO 
The memory of their dead to 
dress anew. 
But, sister mine, bide here that I 
may know, 


Life grows, through death, as 
beautiful as you. 


INSPIRATION 


At the golden gate of song 

Stood I, knocking all day long, 
But the Angel, calm and cold, 
Still refused and bade me, “‘ Hold.” 


Then a breath of soft perfume, 
Then a light within the gloom; 
Thou, Love, camest to my side, 
And the gates flew open wide. 


Long I dwelt in this domain, 
Knew no sorrow, grief, or pain; 
Now you bid me forth and free, 
Will you shut these gates on me? 


[179] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


MY LADY OF CASTLE 
GRAND 


Gray is the palace where she 
dwells, 
Grimly the poplars stand 
There by the window where she 
sits, 


My Lady of Castle Grand. 


There does she bide the livelong 
day, 
Grim as the poplars are, 
Ever her gaze goes reaching out, 
Steady, but vague and far. 


Bright burn the fires in the castle 
hall, 
Brightly the fire-dogs stand; 
But cold is the body and cold the 
heart 
Of my Lady of Castle Grand. 


Blue are the veins in her lily-white 
hands, 
Blue are the veins in her brow; 
Thin is the line of her blue drawn 
lips, 
Who would be haughty now? 


Pale is the face at the window- 
pane, 
Pale as the pearl on her breast, 
“Roderick, love, wilt come again? 
Fares he to east or west?” 


The shepherd pipes to the shep- 
herdess, 


The bird to his mate in the 
tree, 
And ever she sighs as she hears 
their song, 
“Nobody sings for me.” 


The scullery maids have swains 
enow 
Who lead them the way of love, 
But lonely and loveless their mis- 
tress sits 
At her window up above. 


Loveless and lonely she waits and 
waits, 
The saddest in all the land; 
Ah, cruel and lasting is love-blind 
pride, 
My Lady of Castle Grand. 


DRIZZLE 


Hit’s been drizzlin’ an’ been 
sprinklin’, | 
Kin’ o’ techy all day long. 
I ain’t wet enough fu’ toddy, 
I’s too damp to raise a song, 
An’ de case have set me t’inkin’, 
Dat dey ’s folk des lak de rain, 
Dat goes drizzlin’ w’en dey’s 
talkin’, 
An’ won’t speak out flat an’ 
plain. 


Ain’t you nevah set an’ listened 
At a body ’splain his min’? 


[180] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


W’en de t’oughts dey keep on 


drappin’ 
Was n’t big enough to fin’? 
Dem’s whut I call drizzlin’ 
people, 


Othahs call ’em mealy mouf, 
But de fust name hits me bettah, 
Case dey nevah tech a drouf. 


Dey kin talk from hyeah to yandah, 
An’ f’om yandah hyeah ergain, 
An’ dey don’ mek no mo’ ’pression, 
‘Den dis powd’ry kin’ o’ rain. 
En yo’ min’ is dry ez cindahs, 
Er a piece o’ kindlin’ wood, 
*T ain’t no use a-talkin’ to ’em, 
Fw’ dey drizzle ain’t no good. 


Gimme folks dat speak out nachul, 
Whut ’Il say des whut dey mean, 
Whut don’t set dey wo’ds so 
skimpy 
Dat you got to guess between. 
I want talk des’ lak de showahs 
Whut kin wash de dust erway, 
Not dat sprinklin’ convusation, 
Dat des drizzle all de day. 


DE CRITTERS’ DANCE 


A1n’T nobody nevah tol’ you not a 
wod a-tall, 

"Bout de time dat all de critters 
gin dey fancy ball? 

Some folks tell it in a sto’y, some 
folks sing de rhyme, 

*Peahs to me you ought to hyeahed 
it, case hit’s ol’ ez time. 


Well, de critters all was p’osp’ous, 
now would be de chance 

Fu’ to tease ol’ Pa’son Hedgehog, 
givin’ of a dance; 

Case, you know, de _ critters’ 
preachah was de stric’est kin’, 

An’ he nevah made no ’lowance fu’ 
de frisky min’. 


So dey sont dey inbitations, Rac- 
coon writ ’em all, 

“Dis hyeah note is to inbite you 
to de Fancy Ball; 

Come erlong an’ bring yo’ ladies, 
bring yo’ chillun too, 

Put on all yo’ bibs an’ tuckahs, 
show whut you kin do.” 


W’en de night come, dey all 
gathahed in a _ place dey 
knowed, 

Fu’ enough erway f’om people, 
nigh enough de road, 

All de critters had ersponded, Hop- 
‘Toad up to Baih, 

An’ I’s hyeah to tell you, Pa’son 
Hedgehog too, was daih. 


Well, dey talked an’ made dey 
*bejunce, des lak critters 
do, 

An’ dey walked an’ p’omenaded 
’roun’ an’ thoo an’ thoo; 
Jealous ol’ Mis’ Fox, she whispah, 
“See Mis’ Wildcat daih, 
Ain’t hit scan’lous, huh a-comin’ 


wid huh shouldahs baih?” 


[181] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Ol’ man T’utle wasn’t honin’ fu’ 
no dancin’ tricks, 

So he stayed by ol’ Mis’ Tw'tle, 
talkin’ politics; 

Den de ban’ hit ’mence a-playin’ 
critters all to place, 

Fow’ ercross an’ fou’ stan’ side- 
ways, smilin’ face to face. 


’*Fessah Frog, he play de co’net, 
Cricket play de fife, 

Slews o’ Grasshoppahs a-fiddlin’ 
lak to save dey life; 

Mistah Crow, ’he call de figgers, 
settin’ in a tree, 

Huh, uh! how dose critters sas- 
shayed was a sight to see. 


Mistah Possom swing Mis’ Rab- 
bit up an’ down de flo’, 

Ol’ man Baih, he ain’t so nimble, 
an’ it mek him blow; 

Raccoon dancin’ wid Mis’ Squ’il 
squeeze huh little han’, 

She say, “Oh, now ain’t you aw- 
ful, quit it, goodness lan’! ” 


Pa’son Hedgehog groanin’ awful at 
his converts’ shines, 

"Dough he peepin’ thoo his fingahs 
at dem movin’ lines, 

*T well he cain’t set still no longah 
w’en de fiddles sing, 

Up he jump, an’ bless you, honey, 
cut de pigeon-wing. 


Well, de critters lak to fainted jes’ 
wid dey su’prise, 


Sistah Fox, she vowed she was n’t 
gwine to b’lieve huh eyes; 
But dey could n’t be no ’sputin’ 

bout it any mo’: 
Pa’son Hedgehog was a-cape’in’ all 
erroun’ de flo.’ 


Den dey all jes’ capahed scan’lous 
case dey did n’t doubt, 

Dat dey still could go to meetin’; 
who could tu’n ’em out? 

So wid dancin’ an’ uligion, dey 
was in de fol’, 

Fw’ a-dancin’ wid de Pa’son could- 
n’t hu’t de soul. 


WHEN DEY ’LISTED COL- 
ORED SOLDIERS 


Dey was talkin’ in de cabin, dey 
was talkin’ in de hall; 

But I listened kin’ 0’ keerless, not 
a-t’inkin’ "bout it all; 

An’ on Sunday, too, I noticed, dey 
was whisp’rin’ mighty much, 

Stan’in’ all erroun’ de roadside 
wen dey let us out o’ 
chu’ch. ~ 

But I did n’t t’ink erbout it ’twell 
de middle of de week, 

An’ my ’Lias come to see me, an’ 
somehow he could n’t: speak. 

Den I seed all in a minute whut 
he’d come to see me 
for ;— 

Dey had ’listed colo’ed sojers an’ 
my ’Lias gwine to wah. 


[182] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Oh, I hugged him, an’ I kissed 
him, an’ I baiged him not to 
go; 

But he tol’ me dat his conscience, 
hit was callin’ to him so, 

An’ he couldn’t baih to lingah 
wen he had a chanst to 
fight 

For de freedom dey had gin him 
an’ de glory of de right. 

So he kissed me, an’ he lef’ me, 
wen I ’d p’omised to be true; 

An’ dey put a knapsack on him, 
an’ a coat all colo’ed blue. 

So I gin him pap’s ol’ Bible f’om 
de bottom of de draw’,— 


W’en dey ’listed colo’ed sojers an’ 


my ’Lias went to wah. 


But I t’ought of all de weary miles 
dat he would have to tramp, 

An’ I could n’t be contented w’en 
dey tuk him to de camp. 

W’y my hea’t nigh broke wid 
grievin’ ’twell I seed him on 
de street; 

Den I felt lak I could go an’ th’ow 
my body at his feet. 

For his buttons was a-shinin’, an’ 
‘his face was shinin’, too, 
An’ he looked so strong an’ mighty 
in his coat o’ sojer blue, 
Dat I hollahed, ‘Step up, man- 
ny, dough my th’oat was so’ 
an’ raw,— 

W’en dey ’listed colo’ed sojers an’ 
my ’Lias went to wah. 


Ol Mis’ cried w’en mastah lef’ 
huh, young Miss mou’ned huh 
brothah Ned, 

‘An’ I did n’t know dey feelin’s is 
de ve’y wo’ds dey said 

W’en I tol’ ’em I was so’y. .Dey 
had done gin up dey all; 

But dey only seemed mo’ proudah 
dat dey men had hyeahed de 
eal) 

Bofe my mastahs went in gray 
suits, an’ I loved de Yankee 
blue, 

But I t'ought dat I could sorrer 
for de losin’ of ’em too; 

But I could n’t, for I did n’t know 
de ha’f o’ whut I saw, 

*T well dey ’listed colo’ed sojers an’ 
my ’Lias went to wah. 


Mastah Jack come home all sickly; 
he was broke for life, dey 
said ; 

An’ dey lef? my po’ young mastah 
some’r’s on de_ roadside,— 
dead. 

W’en de women cried an’ mou’ned 
’em, I could feel it thoo an’ 
thoo, 

For I had a loved un fightin’ in de 
way o dangah, too. 

Den dey tol’ me dey had laid him 
some’r’s way down souf to 
res, 

Wid de flag dat he had fit for 
shinin’ daih  acrost his 
breas’. 


[183] 


- THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Well, I cried, but den I reckon 
dat ’s whut Gawd had called 
him for, 

W’en dey ’listed colo’ed sojers an’ 
my ’Lias went to wah. 


LINCOLN 


Hurt was the nation with a 
mighty wound, 

And all her ways were filled with 
clam’rous sound. 

Wailed loud the South with unre- 
mitting grief, 

And wept the North that could 
not find relief. 

Then madness joined its harshest 
tone to strife: 

A minor note swelled in the song 
of life. 

Till, stirring with the love that 
filled his breast, 

But still, unflinching at the right’s 
behest, 

Grave Lincoln came, 
handed, from afar, 

The mighty Homer of the lyre of 
war. 

*T was he who bade the raging 
tempest cease, 

Wrenched from his harp the har- 
mony of peace, 

Muted the strings, that made the 
discord,— Wrong, 

And gave his spirit up in thun- 
d’rous song. 


strong 


Oh mighty Master of the mighty 
lyre, 

Earth heard and trembled at thy 
strains of fire: 

Earth learned of thee what Heav’n 
already knew, 

And wrote thee down among her 
treasured few. 


ENCOURAGEMENT 


Wuo dat knockin’ at de do’? 

Why, Ike Johnson,— yes, fu’ sho! 

Come in, Ike. I’s mighty glad 

You come down. I t’ought you’s 

mad 

At me ’bout de othah night, 

An’ was stayin’ ’way fu’ spite. 

Say, now, was you mad fu’ true 

W’en I kin’ o’ laughed at you? 
Speak up, Ike, an’ ’spress yo’se’f. 


*T ain’t no use a-lookin’ sad, 

An’ a-mekin’ out you’s mad; 

Ef you’s gwine to be so glum, 

Wondah why you evah come. 

I don’t lak nobidy ’roun’ 

Dat jes’ shet dey mouf an’ 

frown,— 

Oh, now, man, don’t act a dunce! 

Cain’t you talk? I tol’ you once, 
Speak up, Ike, an’ ’spress yo’se’f. 


Wha’d you come hyeah fu’ to- 
night? 

Body ’d t’ink yo’ haid ain’t right. 

I’s done all dat I kin do,— 


[184] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Dressed perticler, jes’ fu’ you; 

Reckon I’d ’a’ bettah wo’ 

My ol’ ragged calico. 

Aftah all de pains I’s took, 

Cain’t you tell me how I look? 
Speak up, Ike, an’ ’spress yo’se’f. 


Bless my soul! I ’mos’ fu’got 
Tellin’ you *bout Tildy Scott. 
Don’t you know, come Thu’sday 
night, 

She gwine ma’y Lucius White? 
Miss Lize say I allus wuh 
Heap sight laklier ’n huh; 
An’ she'll git me somep’n new, 
Ef I wants to ma’y too. 

Speak up, Ike, an’ ’spress yo’se’f. 


I could ma’y in a week, 

Ef de man I wants ’ud speak. 
Tildy’s presents ’Il be fine, 
But dey would n’t ekal mine. 
Him whut gits me fu’ a wife 

*LI be proud, you bet yo’ life. 

I’s had offers; some ain’t quit; 
But I has n’t ma’ied yit! 

Speak up, Ike, an’ ’spress yo’se’f. 


Ike, I loves you,— yes, I does; 
You ’s my choice, and allus was. 
Laffin’ at you ain’t no harm.— 
Go ’way, dahky, whah’s yo’ arm? 
Hug me _ closer— dah, dat’s 
right! 
Was n’t you a awful sight, 
Havin’ me to baig you so? 
Now ax whut you want to 
know,— 
Speak up, Ike, an’ ’spress yo’se’f! 


THE BOOGAH MAN 


W’EN de evenin’ shadders 
Come a-glidin’ down, 

Fallin’ black an’ heavy 
Ovah hill an’ town, 

Ef you listen keerful, 
Keerful ez you kin, 

So’s you boun’ to notice 
Des a drappin’ pin; 

Den you ’ll hyeah a funny 
Soun’ ercross de lan’; 

Lay low; dat’s de callin’ 
Of de Boogah Man! 


W o0-00, woo-oo! 
Hyeah him ez he go erlong de 
way ; 
W 00-00, woo-o0! 
Don’ you wish de night ’ud tu’n 
to day? 
W oo-00, woo-o0! 
Hide yo’ little peepers *hind yo 
han’ ; 
W 00-00, woo-oo! 


Callin’ of de Boogah Man. 


s 


W’en de win’s a-shiverin’ 
Thoo de gloomy lane, 
An’ dey comes de patterin’ 

Of de evenin’ rain, 
W’en de owl’s a-hootin’, 
Out daih in de wood, 
Don’ you wish, my honey, 
Dat you had been good? 
*T ain’t no use to try to 
Snuggle up to Dan; 
Bless you, dat’s de callin’ 
Of de Boogah Man! 


[185] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Ef you loves yo’ mammy, 
An’ you min’s yo’ pap, 

Ef you nevah wriggles 
Outen Sukey’s lap; 

Ef you says yo “‘ Lay me’ 
Evah single night 

Fo’ dey tucks de kivers 
An’ puts out de light, 

Den de rain kin pattah 
Win’ blow lak a fan, 

But you need n’ bothah 
"Bout de Boogah Man! 


> 


THE WRAITH 


AH me, it is cold and chill 
And the fire sobs low in the 


grate, 
While the wind rides by on the 
hill, 
And the logs crack sharp with 
hate. 


And she, she is cold and sad 
As ever the sinful are, 
But deep in my heart I am glad 
For my wound and the coming 
scar. 


Oh, ever the wind rides by 
And ever the raindrops grieve; 
But a voice like a woman’s sigh 
Says, “Do you believe, be- 
lieve?” 


Ah, you were warm and sweet, 
Sweet as the May days be; 


_ Down did I fall at your feet, 


Why did you hearken to me? 


Oh, the logs they crack and whine, 
And the water drops from the 
eaves; 
But it is not rain but brine 
Where my dead darling grieves. 


And a wraith sits by my side, 
A spectre grim and dark; 
Are you gazing here open-eyed 
Out to the lifeless dark? 


But ever the wind rides on, 
And we sit close within; 
Out of the face of the dawn, 
I and my darling,— sin. 


SILENCE 


*T 1s better to sit here beside the 
sea, 
Here on the spray-kissed beach, 
In silence, that between such 
friends as we 
Is full of deepest speech. 


WHIP-POOR-WILL AND 
KATY-DID 


Stow de night’s a-fallin’, 
An’ I hyeah de callin, 

Out erpon de lonesome hill; 
Soun’ is moughty dreary, 
Solemn-lak an’ skeery, 

Sayin’ fu’ to “ whip po’ Will.” 


[186] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Now hit ’s moughty tryin’, 
Fu’ to hyeah dis cryin’, 
*Deed hit ’s mo’ den I kin stan’; 
Sho’ wid all our slippin’, 
Dey ’s enough of whippin’ 
’Dout a bird a’visin’ any man. 


In de noons o’ summah 
~ Dey’s anothah hummah 
Sings anothah song instid; 
An’ his th’oat’s a-swellin’ 
Wid de joy o’ tellin’, 
But he says dat ‘“ Katy did.” 


Now I feels onsuhtain; 
Won’t you raise de cu’tain 
Ovah all de ti’ngs dat ’s hid? 
W’y dat feathahed p’isen 
Goes erbout a-visin’ 
Whippin’ Will 
did? 


wen Katy 


"LONG TO’DS NIGHT 


a moughty  soothin’ 
feelin’ 
Hits a dahky man, 
’Long to’ds night. 
W’en de row is mos’ nigh ended, 
Den he stops to fan, 
*Long to’ds night. 
De blue smoke f’om his cabin 
is a-callin’ to him 
77 Come; ” 
He smell de bacon cookin’, an’ he 


hyeah de fiah hum; 


DAIH ’s 


[187] 


*mence to sing, dough 
wokin’ putty nigh 
done made him dumb, 

"Long to’ds night. 


An’ he 


Wid his hoe erpon his shouldah 
Den he goes erlong, 
"Long to’ds night. 
An’ he keepin’ time a-steppin’ 
Wid a little song, 
"Long to’ds night. 

De restin’-time’s a-comin’, an’ de 
time to drink an’ eat; 

A baby’s toddlin’ to’ds him on hits 
little dusty feet, 

An’ a-goin’ to’ds his cabin, an’ 
his suppah’s moughty 
sweet, 

"Long to’ds night. 


Daih his Ca’line min’ de kettle, 
Rufus min’ de chile, 
"Long to’ds night; 
An’ de sweat roll down his 
forred, 
Mixin’ wid his smile, 
Long to’ds night. 
He toss his piccaninny, an’ he hum 
a little chune; 
De wokin’ all is ovah, an’ de sup- 
pah comin’ soon; 
De wo’kin’ time ’s Decembah, but 
de__restin’ 
June, 
"Long to’ds night. 


time is 


Dey ’s a kin’ o’ doleful feelin’, 
Hits a tendah place, 
Long to’ds night; 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Dey ’s a moughty glory in him An’ I’s knee-deep in it, 


Shinin’ thoo his face, 
Long to’ds night. 

De cabin’s lak de big house, an’ 
de fiah’s lak de sun; 

His wife look moughty lakly, an’ 
de chile de puttiest 
one; 

W’y, hit’s blessid, jes’ a-livin’ 
w’en a body’s wo’k is 
done. 

"Long to’ds night. 


A GRIEVANCE 


W’EN de snow’s a-fallin’ 
An’ de win’ is col’. . 
Mammy ’mence a-callin’, 
Den she ’mence to scol’, 
“Lucius Lishy Brackett, 
Don’t you go out do’s, 
Button up yo’ jacket, 
Les’n you'll git froze.” 


I sit at de windah 
Lookin’ at de groun’, 
Nuffin nigh to hindah, 
Mammy ain’ erroun’; 
Wish ’t she would n’ mek me 
Set down in dis chaih; 
Pshaw, it would n’t tek me 
Long to git some aih. 


So I jump down nimble 
Ez a boy kin be, 

Dough I’s all a-trimble 
Feahed some one’ll see; 

Bet in a half a minute 
I fly out de do’ 


Dat dah blessed snow. 


Den I hyeah a pattah 
Come acrost de flo’. 

Den dey comes a clattah 
At de cabin do’; 

An’ my mammy holler 
Spoilin’ all my joy, 

“Come in f’om dat waller, 
Don’t I see you, boy?” 


W’en de snow ’s a-sievin’ 
Down ez sof’ ez meal, 

Whut’s de use o’ livin’ 
’Cept you got de feel 

Of de stuff dat’s fallin’ 
"Roun’ an’ white an’ damp, 

*Dout some one: a-callin’, 
“Come in hyeah, you scamp! 


DINAH KNEADING 
DOUGH 


I HAVE seen full many a sight 
Born of day or drawn by night: 
Sunlight on a silver stream, 
Golden lilies all a-dream, 

Lofty mountains, bold and proud, 
Veiled beneath the lacelike cloud; 
But no lovely sight I know 
Equals Dinah kneading dough. 


Brown arms buried elbow-deep 


_ Their domestic rhythm keep, 


As with steady sweep they go 
Through the gently yielding 
dough. 


[188 ] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Maids may vaunt their finer 

3 charms— 

Naught to me like Dinah’s arms; 

Girls may draw, or paint, or 
sew — 


I love Dinah kneading dough. 


Eyes of jet and teeth of pearl, 
Hair, some say, too tight a-curl; 
But the dainty maid I deem 
Very near perfection’s dream. 
Swift she works, and only flings 
Me a glance — the least of things. 
And I wonder, does she know 
‘That my heart is in the dough? 


TO A CAPTIOUS CRITIC 


Dear critic, who my lightness so 
deplores, 

Would I might study to be prince 
of bores, 

Right wisely would I rule that 
dull estate — 

But, sir, I may not, till you 
abdicate. 


DAT OL’ MARE O’ MINE 


WANT to trade me, do you, mis- 
tah? Oh, well, now, I 
reckon not, 

W’y you could n’t buy my Sukey 
fu’ a thousan’ on de spot. 

Dat ol’ mare o’ mine? 


Yes, huh coat ah long an’ shaggy, 
an’ she ain’t no shakes to 
see ; 

Dat’s a ring-bone, yes, you right, 
suh, an’ she got a on’ry 
knee, 

But dey ain’t no use in talkin’, 
she de only hoss fu’ me, 

Dat ol’ mare o’ mine. 


Co’se, I knows dat Suke’s con- 
tra’y, an’ she moughty ap’ 
to vex; 

But you got to mek erlowance fu’ 
de nature of huh sex; 

Dat ol’ mare o’ mine. 

Ef you pull her on de lef’ han’; 
she plum ’termined to go 
right, 

A cannon could n’t skeer huh, but 
she boun’ to tek a fright 

At a piece o’ common paper, or 
anyt’ing whut’s white, 

Dat ol’ mare o’ mine. 


W’en my eyes commence to fail 
me, dough, I trus’es to 
huh sight, 

An’ she ’ll tote me safe an’ hones’ 
on de ve’y da’kes’ night, 

Dat ol’ mare o’ mine. 

Ef I whup huh, she jes’ switch 
huh tail, an’ settle to a 
walk, 

Ef I whup huh mo’, she shek huh 
haid, an’ lak ez not, she 


balk. 


[189] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


But huh sense ain’t no ways 
lackin’, she do evah t’ing 
but talk, 


Dat ol’ mare o’ mine. 


But she gentle ez a lady w’en she 
know huh beau kin see. 
An’ she sholy got mo” gumption 
any day den you or me, 
Dat ol’ mare o’ mine. 
She’s a leetle slow a-goin,’ an’ she 
moughty ha’d to sta’t, 
But we’s gittin’ ol’ togathah, an’ 
she’s closah to my hea’t, 
An’ I doesn’t reckon, mistah, dat 
she ’d sca’cely keer to pa’t; 
Dat ol’ mare o’ mine. 


W’y I knows de time dat cidah’s 
kin’ o’ muddled up my haid, 

Ef it hadn’t been fu’ Sukey 
hyeah, I reckon I’d been 
daid; 

Dat ol’ mare o’ mine. 

But she got me in de middle o’ 
de road an tuk me 
home, 

An’ she would n’t let me wandah, 
ner she wouldn’t let me 
roam, 

Dat’s de kin’ o’ hoss to tie to 
w’en you’s seed de cidah’s 
foam, 

Dat ol’ mare o’ mine. 


You kin talk erbout yo’ heaven, 
you kin talk erbout yo’ hell, 


Dey is people, dey is hosses, den 
dey’s cattle, den dey ’s— 
well — 

Dat ol’ mare o’ mine; 

She de beatenes’ t’ing dat evah 
struck de medders o de 
town, 

An’ aldough huh haid ain’t fittin’ 
fu’ to waih no golden 
crown. 

D’ ain’t a blessed way fu’ Petah 
fu’ to tu’n my Sukey down, 

Dat ol’ mare o’ mine. 


IN THE MORNING 


‘Lias! ’Lias! Bless de Lawd! 
Don’ you know de _ day’s 
erbroad ? 


Ef you don’ git up, you scamp, 
Dey ’ll be trouble in dis camp. 
T’ink I gwine to let you sleep 
W’ile I meks yo’ boa’d an’ keep? 
Dat’s a putty howdy-do — 
Don’ you hyeah me, ’Lias — you? 


Bet ef I come crost dis flo’ 

You won’ fin’ no time to sno’. 
Daylight all a-shinin’ in 

W’ile you sleep — w’y hit’s a sin! 
Ain’t de can’le-light enough 

To bu’n out widout a snuff, 

But you go de mo’nin’ thoo 
Bu’nin’ up de daylight too? 


’Lias, don’ you hyeah me call? 
No use tu’nin’ to’ds de wall; 


[190] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


I kin hyeah dat mattuss squeak; 

Don’ you hyeah me w’en I speak? 

Dis hyeah clock done struck off 
six — 

Ca’line, bring me dem ah sticks! 

Oh, you down, suh; huh, you 
down — 

Look hyeah, don’ you daih to 
frown. 


Ma’ch yo’se’f an’ wash yo’ face, 
Don’ you splattah all de place; 
I got somep’n else to do, 

*Sides jes’ cleanin’ aftah you. 
Tek dat comb an’ fix yo’ haid — 
Looks jes’ lak a feddah baid. 
Look hyeah, boy, I let you see 
You sha’ n’t roll yo’ eyes at me. 


Come hyeah; bring me dat ah 
strap! 

Boy, I’ll whup you ’twell you 
drap; 

You done felt yo’se’f too strong, 

An’ you sholy got me wrong. 

Set down at dat table thaih; 

Jes’ you whimpah ef you daih! 

Evah mo’nin’ on dis place, 

Seem lak I mus’ lose my grace. 


Fol’ yo’ han’s an’ bow yo’ haid — 
Wait ontwell de blessin’’s said; 


“Lawd, have mussy on ouah 
souls —” 

(Don’ you daih to tech dem 
rolls —) 

“Bless de food we gwine to 
eat —” 


(You set still—I see yo’ feet; 
You jes’ try dat trick agin!) 
‘Gin us peace an’ joy. Amen!” 


LHE POET 


HE sang of life, serenely sweet, 
With, now and then, a deeper 


note. 
From some high peak, nigh yet 
remote, 
He voiced the world’s absorbing 
beat. 


He sang of love when earth was 


young, 

And. Love, itself, was in his 
lays. . 
But ah, the world, it turned to 

praise 


A jingle in a broken tongue. 


A FLORIDA NIGHT 


WIn’ a-blowin’ gentle so de san’ 
lay low, 
San’ a little heavy f’om de rain, 
All de pa’ms a-wavin’ an’ a-weav- 
in’ slow, 
Sighin’ lak a 
pain. 
Alligator  grinnin’ 
lagoon, 
Mockin’-bird a-singin’ to be big 
full moon, 


sinnah-soul in 


by de ol’ 


[191] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Skeeter go a-skimmin’ to his 
fightin’ chune 
(Lizy Ann’s a-waitin’ in de 


lane!). 


Moccasin a-sleepin’ in de cyprus 
swamp; 
Need n’t wake de gent’man, not 
fu’ me. 
Mule, you needn’t wake him 
w’en you switch an’ stomp, 
Fightin’ off a ’skeeter er a flea. 
Florida is lovely, she’s de fines’ 
lan’ 
Evah seed de sunlight f’om de 
Mastah’s han’, 
’Ceptin’ fu’ de varmints an’ huh 
fleas an’ san’ 
An’ de nights w’en Lizy Ann 
ain’ free. 


Moon’s a-kinder shaddered on de 
melon patch; 
No one ain’t a-watchin’ ez I 
PO. 
Climbin’ of de fence so’s not to 
click de latch 
Meks my gittin’ in a little 


slow. 

Watermelon smilin’ as it say, 
ds, frees?’ 

Alligator boomin’, but I let him 
be, 

Florida, oh, Florida’s de lan’ fu’ 
me — 

(Lizy Ann a-singin’ sweet an’ 

low). 


DIFFERENCES 


My neighbor lives on the hill, 
And I in the valley dwell, 
My neighbor must look down on 
me, 
Must I look up?—ah, well, 
My neighbor lives on the hill, 
And I in the valley dwell. 


My neighbor reads, and prays, 
And I —I laugh, God wot, 
And sing like a bird when the 

grass is green 
In my small garden plot; 
But ah, he reads and prays, 
And I—I laugh, God wot. 


His face is a book of woe, 

And mine is a song of glee; 
A slave he is to the great ‘“‘ They 
say,” | 
But I—I am bold and free; 
No wonder he smacks of woe, 

And I have the tang of glee. 


My neighbor thinks me a fool, 
“The same to yourself,” say I; 
“Why take your books and take 
your prayers, 
Give me the open sky;” 
My neighbor thinks me a fool, 
“The same to yourself,” say I. 


LONG AGO 


De ol’ time’s gone, de new 
time ’s hyeah 


Wid all hits fuss an’ feddahs; 


[192] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


I done fu’got de joy an’ cheah 
We knowed all kin’s 0’ wed- 
dahs, 

I done fu’got each ol’-time hymn 
We ust to sing in meetin’; 
I’s leahned de prah’s, so neat an’ 

trim, 
De preachah keeps us ’peatin’. 


Hang a vine by de chimney side, 
An’ one by de cabin do’; 
An’ sing a song fu’ de day dat 
died, 
De day of long ergo. 


My youf, hit’s gone, yes, long 
ergo, 
An’ yit I ain’t a-moanin’; 
Hit’s fu’ somet’ings I ust to 
know 
I set to-night a-honin’. 
De pallet on de ol’ plank flo’, 
De rain bar’l und’ de eaves, 
De live oak ’fo’ de cabin do’, 
Whaih de night dove comes an’ 
grieves. 


Hang a vine by de chimney side, 
An’ one by de cabin do’; 
An’ sing a song fu’ de day dat 
died, 
De day of long ergo. 


I’d lak a few ol’ frien’s to-night 
To come an’ set wid me; 

An’ let me feel dat ol’ delight 
I ust to in dey glee. 

But hyeah we is, my pipe an’ me, 
Wid no one else erbout; 


We bofe is choked ez choked kin 
be, 
An’ bofe ll soon go out. 


Hang a vine by de chimney side, 
An’ one by de cabin do’; 
An’ sing a song fu’ de day dat 
died, 
De day of long ergo. 


A PLANTATION MELODY 


DE trees is bendir’ in de sto’m, 
De rain done hid de mountain’s 
fo’m, 
I’s ‘lone an’ in distress. 
But listen, dah’s a voice I hyeah, 
A-sayin’ to me, loud an’ cleah, 
“Lay low in de wildaness.”’ 


De lightnin’ flash, de bough sway 
low, 
My po’ sick hea’t is trimblin’ so, 
It hu’ts my very breas’. 
But him dat give de lightnin’ 
powah 
Jes’ bids me in de tryin’ howah 
“Lay low in de wildaness.” 


O brothah, w’en de tempes’ beat, 
An’ w’en yo’ weary head an’ feet 
Can’t fin’ no place to res’, 
Jes’ ’membah dat de Mastah’s 

nigh, 
An’ putty soon you'll hyeah de 


cry, 
“Lay low in de wildaness.” 


[193] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


O sistah, w’en de rain come down, 
An’ all yo’ hopes is ‘bout to 
drown, 
Don’t trus’ de Mastah less. 
He smilin’ w’en you t’ink he 
frown, 
He ain’ gwine let yo’ soul sink 
down — 
Lay low in de wildaness. 


A SPIRITUAL 


DE ’cession’s stahted on de gospel 
way, 
De Capting is a-drawin’ nigh: 
Bettah stop a-foolin’ an’ a-try to 
pray; 
Lif? up yo’ haid w’en de King 
go by! 


Oh, sinnah mou’nin’ in de dusty 
road, 
Hyeah’s de minute fu’ to dry 
yo’ eye: 
Dey’s a moughty One a-comin’ 
fu’ to baih yo’ load; 
Lif? up yo’ haid w’en de King 
go by! 


Oh, widder weepin’ by yo’ hus- 
ban’s grave, 
Hit’s bettah fu’ to sing den 
sigh: 
Hyeah come de Mastah wid de 
powah to save; 
Lif’ up yo’ haid w’en de King 
go by! 


Oh, orphans a-weepin’ lak de wid- 
der do, 

An’ I wish you’d tell me why: 

De Mastah is a mammy an’ a 


Pappy too; 
Lif’ up yo’ haid w’en de King 
~ go by! 
Oh, Moses sot de sarpint in de 
wildahness 
W’en de chillun had com- 


menced to die: 
Some ’efused to look, but hit 
cuohed de res’; 
Lif’ up yo’ haid w’en de King 
go by! 


Bow down, bow ’way down, 
Bow down, 
But lif’ up yo’ haid w’en de King 
go by! 


THE MEMORY OF 
MARTHA 


Our in de night a sad bird moans, 
An’, oh, but hit’s moughty 


lonely ; 
Times I kin sing, but mos’ I 
groans, 
Fu’ oh, but hit’s moughty 
lonely! 


Is you sleepin’ well dis evenin’, 
Marfy, deah? 
W’en I calls you fom de cabin, 
kin you hyeah? 
*T ain’t de same ol’ place to me, 
Nuffin’’s lak hit used to be, 


[194] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


W’en I knowed dat you was allus 
some’ers near. 


Down by de road de shadders 
grows, 
oh, but hit’s moughty 
lonely; 
Seem lak de 
knows, 
An’, oh, but hit’s moughty 
lonely! 
Does you know, I’s cryin’ fu’ you, 
oh, my wife? 
Does you know dey ain’t no joy 
no mo’ in life? 
An’ my only t’ought is dis, 
Dat I’s honin’ fu’ de bliss 
Fu’ to quit dis groun’ o’ worri- 
ment an’ strife. 


An’, 


vey moonlight 


Dah on de baid my banjo lays, 
An’, oh, but hit’s moughty 
lonely ; 
Can’t even sta’t a chune o’ praise, 
An’, oh, but hit’s moughty 
lonely! 
Oh, hit’s moughty slow a-waitin’ 
hyeah below. 
Is you watchin’ fu’ me, Marfy, 
at de do’? 
Ef you is, in spite o’ sin, 
Dey ’ll be sho’ to let me in, 
W’en dey sees yo’ face a-shinin’, 
den dey ll know. 


W’EN I GITS HOME 
It’s moughty 
’roun’ 
Dis sorrer-laden earfly groun’, 
An’ oftentimes I thinks, thinks 
I, 
*T would be a sweet t’ing des to 
die, 
An’ go ’long home. 


tiahsome layin’ 


Home whaih de frien’s I loved ’Il 
say, 

“We ’ve waited fu’ you many a 
day, 

Come hyeah an’ res’ yo’se’f, an’ 
know 

You’s done wid sorrer an’ wid 
woe, 

Now you’s at home.” 


W’en I gits home some blessid 
day, 
I ‘lows to th’ow my caihs erway, 
An’ up an’ down de shinin’ street, 
Go singin’ sof’ an’ low an’ sweet, 
W’en I gits home. 


I wish de day was neah at han’, 

I’s tiahed of dis grievin’ lan’, 

I’s tiahed of de lonely yeahs, 

I want to des dry up my teahs, 
An’ go ‘long home. 


Oh, Mastah, won’t you sen’ de 
call ? 

My frien’s is daih, my hope, my 
all. 


[195] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


I’s waitin’ whaih de road is rough, 
I ‘want to ‘hyeah ‘you say, 
“Enough, 
Ol’ man, come home!” 


“HOWDY, HONEY, 
HOWDY!” 


Do’ a-stan’in’ on a jar, fiah 
a-shinin’ thoo, 

Ol folks drowsin’ ’roun’ de place, 
wide awake is Lou, 

W’en I tap, she answeh, an’ I see 
huh ’mence to grin, 

“Howdy, honey, howdy, won’t 


you step right in?” 


Den I step erpon de log layin’ at 
de do’, 

Bless de Lawd, huh mammy an’ 
huh pap’s done ’menced to 
sno’, 

Now ’s de time, ef evah, ef I’s 
gwine to try an’ win, 

“Howdy, honey, howdy, won’t 
you step right in?” 


No use playin’ on de 
trimblin’ on de brink, 

W’en a body love a gal, tell huh 
whut he t’ink; 

W’en huh hea’t is open fu’ de love 
you gwine to gin, 

Pull yo’se’f togethah, suh, an’ step 
right in. 


aidge, 


Sweetes’ imbitation dat a body 
evah hyeahed, 


Sweetah den de music of a love- 
sick mockin’-bird, 

Comin’ f’om de gal you loves bet- 
tah den yo’ kin, 

“Howdy, honey, howdy, won’t 
you step right in?” 


At de gate o’ heaven w’en de 
storm o’ life is pas’, 

Spec’ I'll be a-stan’in’, ’twell de 
Mastah say at las’, 

““Hyeah he stan’ all weary, but 
he winned his fight wid sin. 

Howdy, honey, howdy, won’t you 
step right in?” 


THE UNSUNG HEROES 


A sono for the unsung heroes 
who rose in the country’s 
need, 

When the life of the land was 
threatened by the slaver’s 
cruel greed, 

For the men who came from the 
cornfield, who came from the 
plough and the flail, 

Who rallied round when they 
heard the sound of the 
mighty man of the rail. 


They laid them down in the val- 
leys, they laid them down in 
the wood, 

And the world looked on at the 
work they did, and whis- 
pered, “It is good.” 


[196] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


They fought their way on the 
hillside, they fought their 
way in the glen, 

And God looked down on their 
sinews brown, and said, “I 
have made them men.” 


They went to the blue lines gladly, 
and the blue lines took them 
in, 

And the men who saw their 
muskets’ fire thought not of 
their dusky skin. 

The gray lines rose and melted 
beneath their scathing show- 
ers, | 

And they said, “I is true, they 
have force to do, these old 
slave boys of ours.” 


Ah, Wagner saw their glory, and 
Pillow knew their blood, 
That poured on a nation’s altar, 

a sacrificial flood. 

Port Hudson heard their war-cry 
that smote its smoke-filled 
air, 

And the old free fires of their 
savage sires again were 
kindled there. 


They laid them down where the 
rivers the greening valleys 
gem. 

And the song of the thund’rous 
cannon was their sole re- 
quiem, 


And the great smoke wreath that 
mingled its hue with the 
dusky cloud, 

Was the flag that furled o’er a 
saddened world, and _ the 
sheet that made their shroud. 


Oh, Mighty God of the Battles 
Who held them in Thy 
hand, 

Who gave them strength through 
the whole day’s length, to 
fight for their native land, 

They are lying dead on the hill- 
sides, they are lying dead on 
the plain, 

And we have not fire to smite the 
lyre and sing them one brief 
strain. 


Give, Thou, some seer the power 
to sing them in their might, 

The men who feared the master’s 
whip, but did not fear the 
fight; 

That he may tell of their virtues 
as minstrels did of old, 

Till the pride of face and the hate 
of race grow obsolete and 


cold. 


A song for the unsung heroes who 
stood the awful test, 

When the humblest host that the 
land could boast went forth 
to meet the best; 

A song for the unsung heroes who 


fell on the bloody sod, 


[197] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Who fought their way from night 
to day and struggled up to 
God. 


THE POOL 


By the pool that I see in my 
dreams, dear love, 
I have sat with you time and 
again; 
And listened beneath the 
leaves, dear love, 
To the sibilant sound of the 
rain. 


dank 


And the pool, it is silvery bright, 
dear love, 
And as pure as the heart of a 
maid, 
As sparkling and dimpling, it 
darkles and shines 
In the depths of the heart of 


the glade. 
But, oh, I’ve a wish in my soul, 
dear love, 
(The wish of a dreamer, it 
seems, ) 


That I might wash free of my 
sins, dear love, 
In the pool that I see in my 
dreams. 


POSSESSION 


Wuoss little lady is you, chile, 
Whose little gal is you? 


What’s de use o’ kiver’n up yo’ 


face? ; 
Chile, dat ain’t de way to do. 
Lemme see yo’ little eyes, 
Tek yo’ little han’s down nice, 
Lawd, you wuff a million bills, 
Huh uh, chile, dat ain’t yo’ 
price. 


Honey, de money ain’t been made 
Dat dey could pay fu’ you; 
*T ain’t no use a-biddin’; you too 
high 
Fw’ de riches’ Jap er Jew. 
Lemme see you smilin’ now, 
How dem teef o’ yo’n do 
shine, 
An’ de t’ing dat meks me laff 
Is dat all o’ you is mine, 


How’s I gwine to tell you how I 
feel, 
How’s I gwine to weigh yo’ 
wuft? 
Oh, you sholy is de sweetes’ t’ing 
Walkin’ on dis blessed earf. 
Possum is de sweetes’ meat, 
Cidah is the nices’ drink, 
But my little lady-bird 
Is de bes’ of all, I t’ink. 


Talk erbout ’uligion he’pin’ folks 
All thoo de way o’ life, 
Gin de res’ ’uligion, des’ gin me 
You, my little lady-wife. 
Den de days kin come all ha’d, 
Den de nights kin come all 
black, 


[198] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Des’ you tek me by de han’, 
An’ I'll stumble on de track. 


Stumble on de way to Gawd, my 
chile, 
Stumble on, an’ mebbe fall; 
But I'll keep a-trottin’, while you 
lead on, 
Pickin’ an’ a-trottin’, dat’s all. 
Hol’ me mighty tight, dough, 
chile, 
Fw’ hit’s rough an’ rocky lan’, 
Heaben’s at de en’, I know, 
So I’s leanin’ on yo’ han’. 


THE OLD FRONT GATE 


W’en daih’s chillun in de house, 
Dey keep on a-gittin’ tall; 

But de folks don’ seem to see 
Dat dey ’s growin’ up at all, 

*T well dey fin’ out some fine day 
Dat ‘de gals has ’menced to 

grow, 

‘W’en dey notice as dey pass 

Dat de front gate’s saggin’ low. 


W’en de hinges creak an’ cry, 
An’ de bahs go slantin’ down, 
You kin reckon dat hit ’s time 
Fu’ to cas’ yo’ eye erroun’, 
’Cause daih ain’t no ’sputin’ dis, 
Hit ’s de trues’ sign to show 
Dat daih’s cou’tin’ goin’ on 
W’en de ol’ front gate sags low. 


Oh, you grumble an’ complain, 
An’ you prop dat gate up right; 


But you notice right nex’ day 

Dat hit ’s in de same ol’ plight. 
So you fin’ dat hit’s a rule, 

An’ daih ain’ no use to blow, 
W’en de gals is growin’ up, 

Dat de front gate will sag low. 


Den you t’ink o’ yo’ young days, 

W’en you cou’ted Sally Jane, 
An’ you so’t o’ feel ashamed 

Fw’ to grumble an’ complain, 
Cause yo’ ricerlection says, 

An’ you know hits wo’ds is so, 
Dat huh pappy had a time 

Wid his front gate saggin’ low. 


So you jes’ looks on an’ smiles 

At ’em leanin’ on de gate, 
Tryin’ to t’ink whut he kin say 

Fw’ to keep him daih so late, 
But you lets dat gate erlone, 

Fu’ yo’ ’sperunce goes to show, 
“Twell de gals is ma’ied off, 

It gwine keep on saggin’ low. 


DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER 


In the east the morning comes, 
Hear the rollin’ of the drums 
On the hill. 
But the heart that beat as they 
beat 
In the battle’s raging day heat 
Lieth still. 
Unto him the night has come, 
Though they roll the morning 
drum. 


[199] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


What is in the bugle’s blast? 

It is: ‘‘ Victory at last! 
Now for rest.” 

‘But, my comrades, come behold 

him, 

Where our colors now enfold him, 
And his breast 

Bares no more to meet the blade, 

But lies covered in the shade. 


What a stir there is to-day! 
They are laying him away 
Where he fell. 
There the flag goes draped before 
him; 
Now they pile the grave sod o’er 
him 
With a knell. 
And he answers to his name 
In the higher ranks of fame. 


There ’s a woman left to mourn 

For the child that she has borne 
In travail. 

“But her heart beats high and 

higher, 

With the patriot mother’s fire, 
At the tale. 

She has borne and lost a son, 

But her work and his are done. 


Fling the flag out, let it wave; 
They ’re returning from the 
grave — 
“ Double quick! ” 
And the cymbals now are crash- 
ing, 


Bright his comrades’ eyes are flash- 
ing 
From the thick 
Battle-ranks which knew him 
brave, 
No tears for a hero’s grave. 


In the east the morning comes, 
Hear the rattle of the drums 
Far away. 
Now no time for grief’s pursuing, 
Other work is for the doing, 
Here to-day. 
He is sleeping, let him rest 
With the flag across his breast. 


A FROLIC 


SWING yo’ lady roun’ an’ roun’, 
Do de bes’ you know; 

Mek yo’ bow an’ p’omenade 
Up an’ down de flo’; 

Mek dat banjo hump huhse’f, 
Listen at huh talk: 

Mastah gone to town to-night; 
"T ain’t no time to walk. 


Lif’ yo’ feet an’ flutter thoo, 
Run, Miss Lucy, run; 
Reckon you’ll be cotched an’ 
kissed 
‘Fo’ de night is done. 
You don’t need to be so proud — 
I’s a-watchin’ you, 
An’ I’s layin’ lots 0’ plans 
Fw’ to git you, too. 


[200] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Moonlight on de cotton-fiel’ 
Shinin’ sof’ an’ white, 
Whippo’will a-tellin’ tales 
Out thaih ir de night; 
An’ yo’ cabin’s ’crost de lot: 
Run, Miss Lucy, run; 
Reckon you’ll be cotched an’ 
kissed 
’*Fo’ de night is done. 


NODDIN’ BY DE FIRE 


SoME folks t’inks hit’s right an’ 
p’opah, 
Soon ez bedtime come erroun’, 
Fw’ to scramble to de kiver, 
Lak dey ’d hyeahed de trumpet 
soun’. 
But dese people dey all misses 
Whaut I mos’ly does desiah; 
Dat ’s de settin’ roun’ an’ dozin’, 


_ An’ a-noddin’ by de fiah. 


When you’s tiahed out a-hoein’, 
Er a-followin’ de plough, 
Whut’s de use of des a-fallin’ 
On yo’ pallet lak a cow? 
W’y, de fun is all in waitin’ 
In de face of all de tiah, 
An’ a-dozin’ and a-drowsin’ 
By a good ol’ hick’ry fiah. 


Oh, you grunts an’ groans an’ 
mumbles 
Case yo’ bones is full o’ col’, 


Dough you feels de joy a-tricklin’ 
Roun’ de co’nahs of yo’ soul. 
An’ you ’low anothah minute 
*S sho to git you wa’m an’ 
dryah, 
W’en you set up pas’ yo’ bedtime, 
Case you hates to leave de fiah. 


Whut’s de use o’ downright 
sleepin’? 

You can’t feel it while it las’, 
An’ you git up feelin’ sorry 

W’en de time fu’ it is pas’. 
Seem to me dat time too precious, 

An’ de houahs too short entiah, 
Fw’ to sleep, w’en you could spen’ 


em 


Des a-noddin’ by de fiah. 


LOVE’S CASTLE 


Key and bar, key and bar, 
Iron bolt and chain! 
And what will you do when the 
King comes 
To enter his domain? 


Turn key and lift bar, 
Loose, oh, bolt and chain! 
Open the door and let him in, 
And then lock up again. 


But, oh, heart, and woe, heart, 
Why do you ache so sore? 

Never a moment’s peace have you 
Since Love hath passed the door. 


[201] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Turn key and lift bar, 
And loose bolt and chain; 

But Love took in his esquire, Grief, 
And there they both remain. 


MORNING SONG OF 
LOVE 


DarLING, my darling, my heart is 
on the wing, 
It flies to thee this morning like 
a bird, 
Like happy birds in springtime my 
spirits soar and sing, 
The same sweet song thine ears 
have often heard. 


The sun is in my window, the 
shadow on the lea, 
The wind is moving in the 
branches green, 
And all my life, my darling, is 
turning unto thee, 
And kneeling at thy feet, my 
own, my queen. 


The golden bells are ringing across 
the distant hill, 
Their merry peals come to me 
soft and clear, 
But in my heart’s deep chapel all 
incense-filled and still 
A sweeter bell is sounding for 
thee, dear. 


The bell of love invites thee to 
come and seek the shrine 


Whose altar is erected unto 
thee, 

The offerings, the sacrifice, the 
prayers, the chants are 
thine, 

And I, my love, thy humble 
priest will be. 


ON A CLEAN BOOK 


TO F. N. 


LIKE sea-washed sand upon the 
shore, 
So fine and clean the tale, 
So clear and bright I almost see, 
The flashing of a sail. 


The tang of salt is in its veins, 
The freshness of the spray 
God give you love and lore and 
strength, 
To give us such alway. 


TO THE EASTERN 
SHORE 


I’s feelin’ kin’ o’ lonesome in my 
little room to-night, 
An’ my min’s done los’ de min- 
utes an’ de miles, | 
Wile it teks me back a-flyin’ to 
de country of delight, 
Whaih de Chesapeake goes 
grumblin’ er wid smiles. 
Oh, de ol’ plantation ’s callin’ 
to me, Come, come back, 


[202] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Hyeah’s de place fu’ you to la- 
bouh an’ to res’, 

’Fu my sandy roads is gleam- 
in’ wile de city ways is 
black ; 

Come back, honey, case yo’ 
country home is bes’. 


I know de moon is shinin’ down 
erpon de Eastern sho’, 
An’ de bay’s a-sayin’ “ How- 
dy ” to de lan’; 
An’ de folks is all a-settin’ out 
erroun’ de cabin do’, 
Wid dey feet a-restin’ in de sil- 
vah san’; 
An’ de ol’ plantation ’s callin’ 
to me, Come, oh, come, 
F’om de life dat’s des’ a-waih- 
in’ you erway, 
F’om de trouble an’ de bustle, 
an’ de agernizin’ hum 
Dat de city keeps ergoin’ all de 
day. 


I’s tiahed of de city, tek me back 
to Sandy Side, 
Whaih de po’est ones kin live 
an’ play an’ eat; 
Whaih we draws a simple livin’ 
f’om de fo’est an’ de tide, 
An’ de days ah faih, an’ evah 
night is sweet. 
Fw’ de ol’ plantation ’s callin’ 
to me, Come, oh, come. 
An’ de Chesapeake’s a-sayin’ 
“ Dat ’s de t’ing,” 


Wile my little cabin beckons, 
dough his mouf is closed 
an’ dumb, 

I’s a-comin, an’ my hea’t be- 
gins to sing. 


RELUCTANCE 


Witt I have some mo’ dat pie? 
No, ma’am, thank-ee, dat is—~ 
} hee 
Bettah quit daihin’ me. 
Dat ah pie look sutny good: 
How ’d you feel now ef I would? 
I don’ reckon dat I should; 
Bettah quit daihin’ me. 


Look hyeah, I gwine tell de truf, 

Mine is sholy one sweet toof: 
Bettah quit daihin’ me. 

Yass’m, yass’m, dat’s all right, 

I’s done tried to be perlite: 

But dat pie’s a lakly sight, 
Wha’s de use o’ daihin’ me? 


My, yo’ lips is full an’ red, 

Don’t I wish youd tu’n yo’ haid? 
Bettah quit daihin’ me. 

Dat ain’t faih, now, honey chile, 

I’s gwine lose my sense erwhile 

Ef you des set daih an’ smile, 
Bettah quit daihin’ me. 


Nuffin’ don’ look ha’f so fine 

Ez dem teef, deah, w’en dey shine: 
Bettah quit daihin’ me. 

Now look hyeah, I tells you dis; 


[203 ] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


I'll give up all othah bliss 
Des to have one little kiss, 
Bettah quit daihin’ me. 


Laws, I teks yo’ little han’, 

Ain’t it tendah? bless de lan’— 
Bettah quit daihin’ me. 

I’s so lonesome by myse’f, 

’D ain’t no fun in livin’ lef’; 

Dis hyeah life ’s ez dull ez def: 
Bettah quit daihin’ me. 


Why n’t you tek yo’ han’ erway? 
Yass, Ill hol’ it: but I say 
Bettah quit daihin’ me. 
Holin’ han’s is sholy fine. 
Seems lak dat ’s de weddin’ sign. 
Wish you’d say dat you’d be 
mine ; — 
Dah you been daihin’ me. 


BALLADE 
By Mystic’s banks I held my 


dream. 
(I held my fishing rod as well,) 
The vision was of dace and bream, 
A fruitless vision, sooth to tell. 
But round about the sylvan dell 
Were other sweet Arcadian 
shrines, 
Gone now, is all the rural spell, 
Arcadia has trolley lines, 


Oh, once loved, sluggish, darkling 
stream, 


For me no more, thy waters 
swell, 
Thy music now the 
scream, 
Thy fragrance now the factory’s 
smell ; 
Too near for me the clanging 
bell; 
A false light in the water shines 
While Solitude lists to her 
knell,— 
Arcadia has trolley lines. 


engines’ 


Thy wooded lanes with shade and 
gleam 
Where bloomed the fragrant as- 
phodel, 
Now bleak commercially teem 
With signs “To Let,” “To 
Buy,” “To Sell.” 
And Commerce holds 
fierce and fell; 
With vulgar sport she now com- 
bines 
Sweet Nature’s piping voice to 
quell. 
Arcadia has trolley lines. 


them 


L’ENVOI. 
Oh, awful Power whose works 
repel 
The marvel of the earth’s de- 
signs,— 


I ’ll hie me otherwhere to dwell, 
Arcadia has trolley lines. 


[204] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


SPEAKIN’ AT DE COU’T- 
HOUSE 


Dey been speakin’ at de cou't- 
house, 

An’ laws-a-massy me, 

”T was de beatness kin’ o’ doin’s 
Dat evah I did see. 

Of cose I had to be dah 
In de middle o’ de crowd, 

An’ I hallohed wid de othahs, . 
W’en de speakah riz and bowed. 


I was kind o’ disapp’inted 
At de smallness of de man, 
Case Id allus pictered great folks 
On a mo’ expansive plan; 
But I t’ought I could respect him 
An’ tek in de wo'ds he said, 
Fu’ dey sho was somp’n knowin’ 


In de bald spot on his haid. 


But hit did seem so’t o’ funny 
 Aftah waitin’ fu’ a week 
Dat de people kep’ on shoutin’ 
So de man des could n’t speak; 
De ho’ns dey blared a little, 
Den dey let loose on de 
drums,— 
Some one tol’ me dey was playin’ 
“See de conkerin’ hero comes.” 


“Well,” says I, “ 
folks, 
But you’s sutny actin’ queer, 
What ’s de use of heroes comin’ 
Ef dey cain’t talk w’en dey’s 
here?” 


you all is white 


Aftah while dey let him open, 
An’ dat man he waded in, 
An’ he fit de wahs all ovah 


Winnin’ victeries lak sin. 


W’en he come down to de present, 
Den he made de feathahs fly. 
He des waded in on money, 
An’ he played de ta’iff high. 
An’ he said de colah question, 
Hit was ovah, solved, an’ done, 
Dat de dahky was his brothah, 
Evah blessed mothah’s son. 


Well he settled all de trouble 
Dat ’s been pesterin’ de lan’, 

Den he set down mid de cheerin’ 

. An’ de playin’ of de ban’. 

I was feelin’ moughty happy 


*Twell I hyeahed somebody 
speak, 
“Well, dat’s his side of de bus’- 
ness, 
But you wait for Jones nex’ 
week.” 


BLACK SAMSON OF 
BRANDYWINE 


“Tn the fight at Brandywine, Black 
Samson, a giant negro armed with a 
scythe, sweeps his way through the 
red ranks... Cy . SKINNER’S 
“ Myths and Legends of Our Own 
Land.” 


Gray are the pages of record, 
Dim are the volumes of eld; 


Else had old Delaware told us 
More that her history held. 


[205] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Told us with pride in the story, 
Honest and noble and fine, 

More of the tale of my hero, 
Black Samson of Brandywine. 


Sing of your chiefs and your no- 
bles, 
Saxon and Celt and Gaul, 
Breath of mine ever shall join you, 
Highly I honor them all. 
Give to them all of their glory, 
But for this noble of mine, 
Lend him a tithe of your tribute, 
Black Samson of Brandywine. 


There in the heat of the battle, 
There in the stir of the fight, 
Loomed he, an ebony giant, 
Black as the pinions of night. 
Swinging his scythe like a mower 
Over a field of grain, 
Needless the care of the gleaners, 
Where he had passed amain. 


Straight through the human _ har- 
vest, 
Cutting a bloody swath, 

Woe to you, soldier of Briton! 
Death is abroad in his path. 
Flee from the scythe of the reaper, 

Flee while the moment is thine, 
None may with safety withstand 
him, 
Black Samson of Brandywine. 


Was he a freeman or bondman? 
Was he a man or a thing? 


What does it matter? His brav- 


5] 


ry 
Renders him royal —a king. 
If he was only a chattel, 
Honor the ransom may pay 
Of the royal, the loyal black giant 
Who fought for his country 
that day. 


Noble and bright is the story, 
Worthy the touch of the lyre, 

Sculptor or poet should find it 
Full of the stuff to inspire. 

Beat it in brass and in copper, 
Tell it in storied line, 

So that the world may remember 
Black Samson of Brandywine. 


THE LOOKING-GLASS 


DINAH stan’ befo’ de glass, 
Lookin’ moughty neat, 
An’ huh purty shadder sass 
At huh ‘haid an’ feet. 
While she sasshay ’roun’ an’ bow, 
Smilin’ den an’ poutin’ now, 
An’ de lookin’-glass, I "low 
Say: ‘ Now, ain’t she sweet?” 


All she do, de glass it see, 
Hit des see, no mo’, 
Seems to me, hit ought to be 
Drappin’ on de flo’. 
She go w’en huh time git slack, 
Kissin’ han’s an’ smilin’ back, 
Lawsy, how my lips go smack, 


Watchin’ at de do’. 


[206] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Wisht I was huh lookin’-glass, 
W’en she kissed huh han’; 

Does you t’ink I'd let it pass, 
Settin’ on de stan’? 

No; I’d des’ fall down an’ break, 

Kin’ o’ glad ’t uz fu’ huh sake; 

- But de diffunce, dat whut make 

Lookin’-glass an’ man. 


A MISTY DAY 


Heart of my heart, the, day is 
chill, 

The mist hangs low o’er the 
wooded hill, 

The soft white mist and the heavy 
cloud 

The sun and the face of heaven 
shroud. 

The birds are thick in the dripping 
trees, | 

That drop their pearls to the beg- 
gar breeze; 

No songs are rife where songs are 
wont, 

Each singer crouches in his haunt. 


Heart of my heart, the day is chill, 

Whene’er thy loving voice is still, 

The cloud and mist hide the sky 
from me, 

Whene’er thy face I cannot see. 

My thoughts fly back from the 
chill without, 

My mind in the storm drops 
doubt on doubt, 


No songs arise. Without thee, 
love, 
My soul sinks down like a fright- 


ened dove. 


LVL’ GAL 


Ou, de weathah it is balmy an’ de 
breeze is sighin’ low. 
Lil’ gal, 
An’ de mockin’ bird is singin’ in 
de locus’ by de do’, 
Lil’ gal; 
Dere’s a hummin’ an’ a bummin’ 
in de lan’ f’om eas’ to wes’, 
I’s a-sighin’ fu’ you, honey, an’ I 
nevah know no res’. 
Fu’ dey’s lots o’ trouble brewin’ 
an’ a-stewin’ in my breas’, 
Lil’ gal. 


Whut ’s de mattah wid de weathah, 
whut’s de mattah wid de 
breeze, 

Lil gal? 

Whut’s de mattah wid de locus’ 

dat ’’s a-singin’ in de trees, 
Lil’ gal? 

W’y dey knows dey ladies love ’em, 
an’ dey knows dey love ’em 
true, 

An’ dey love ’em back, I reckon, 
des’ lak I’s a-lovin’ you; 
Dat’s de reason dey’s a-weavin’ 
an’ a-sighin’, thoo an’ thoo, 

Lil gal. 


[207] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Don’t you let no da’ky fool you 
cause de clo’es he waihs is 
fine, 

Lil’ gal. 

Dey ’s a hones’ hea’t a-beatin’ un- 

nerneaf dese rags 0’ mine, 
Lil gal. 

C’ose dey ain’ no use in mockin’ 
whut de birds an’ weathah do, 

But I’s so’y I cain’t ’spress it w’en 
I knows I loves you true, 

Dat’s de reason I’s a-sighin’ an’ 
a-singin now fu’ you, 


Li'l’ gal. 


DOUGLASS 


Au, Douglass, we have fall’n on 
evil days, 
Such days as thou, not even thou 
didst know, 
When thee, the eyes of that 
harsh long ago 
Saw, salient, at the cross of devious 
ways, 
And all the country heard thee 
with amaze. 
Not ended then, the passionate 


ebb and flow, 
The awful tide that battled to 
and fro; 
We ride amid a tempest of dis- 
praise. 


Now, when the waves of swift dis- 
sension swarm, 


And Honor, the strong pilot, 
lieth stark, 
Oh, for thy voice high-sounding 
o’er the storm, 
For thy strong arm to guide the 
shivering bark, 
The blast-defying power of thy 
form, 
To give us comfort through the 
lonely dark. 


WHEN SAM’L SINGS 


HyeAu dat singin’ in de medders 
Whaih de folks is mekin’ hay? 
Wo’k is pretty middlin’ heavy 
Fu’ a man to be so gay. 
You kin tell dey ’s somep’n special 
F’om de canter o’ de song; 
Somep’n sholy pleasin’? Sam’l, 
W’en he singin’ all day long. 
Hyeahd him wa’blin’ ’way dis 
mo’nin’ 
Fo’ ’t was light enough to see. 
Seem lak music in de evenin’ 
Allus good enough fu’ me. 
But dat man commenced to hollah 
’Fo’ he ’’d even washed his face; 
Would you b’lieve, de scan’lous 
rascal 
Woke de birds erroun’ de place? 


Sam’l took a trip a-Sad’day; 
Dressed hisse’f in all he had, 

Tuk a cane an’ went a-strollin’, 
Lookin’ mighty pleased an’ glad. 


[208] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Some folks don’ know whut de 
mattah, 
But I do, you bet yo’ life; 
Sam’] smilin’ an’ a-singin’ 
’Case he been to see his wife. 


- She live on de fu’ plantation, 


Twenty miles erway er so; 
But huh man is mighty happy 
W’en he git de chanst to go. 
Walkin’ allus ain’ de nices— 
Mo’nin’ fin’s him on de way — 
But he allus comes back smilin’, 
Lak his pleasure was his pay. 


Den he do a heap o’ talkin’, 
Do’ he mos’'ly kin’ o’ still, 
But de wo’ds, dey gits to runnin’ 
Lak de watah fu’ a mill. 
“ Whut’s de use 0’ havin’ trouble, 
Whut’s de use o’ havin’ strife? ” 
Dat ’s de way dis Sam’! preaches 
W’en he been to see his wife. 


An’ I reckon I git jealous, 
Fu’ I laff an’ joke an’ sco’n, 
An’ I say, “ Oh, go on, Sam’, 
Des go on, an’ blow yo’ ho’n.” 
But I know dis comin’ Sad’day, 
Dey ’ll be brighter days in life; 
An’ I ’ll be ez glad ez Sam’l 
W’en I go to see my wife. 


BOOKER T. WASHINGTON 


THE word is writ that he who 
runs may read. 


What is the passing breath of 
earthly fame? 
But to snatch glory from the hands 


of blame — 

‘That is to be, to live, to strive in- 
deed. 

A poor Virginia cabin gave the 
seed, 

And from its dark and lowly door 
there came 

A peer of princes in the world’s 
acclaim, 

A master spirit for the nation’s 
need. 

Strong, silent, purposeful beyond 
his kind, 


‘The mark of rugged force on 
brow and lip, 
Straight on he goes, nor turns to 
look behind 
Where hot the hounds come 
baying at his hip; 
With one idea foremost in his 
mind, 
Like the keen prow of some on- 
forging ship. 


THE MONK’S WALK 


In this sombre garden close 

What has come and passed, who 
knows? 

What red passion, what white 
pain 

Haunted this dim walk in vain? 


Underneath the ivied wall, 
Where the silent shadows fall, 


[209 ] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Lies the pathway chill and damp 
Where the world-quit dreamers 
tramp. 


Just across, where sunlight burns, 
Smiling at the mourning ferns, 
Stand the roses, side by side, 
Nodding in their useless pride. 


Ferns and roses, who shall say 

What you witness day by day? 
Covert smile or dropping eye, 

As the monks go pacing by. 


Has the novice come to-day 

Here beneath the wall to pray? 

Has the young monk, lately chid- 
den, 

Sung his lyric, sweet, forbidden? 


Tell me, roses, did you note 


That pale father’s throbbing 
throat? 

Did you hear him murmur, 
“ Love!” 


As he kissed a faded glove? 


Mourning ferns, pray tell me why 
Shook you with that passing sigh? 
Is it that you chanced to spy 
Something in the Abbot’s eye? 


Here no dream, nor thought of sin, 
Where no worlding enters in; 
Here no longing, no desire, 

Heat nor flame of earthly fire. 


Branches waving green above, 
Whisper naught of life nor love; 


Softened winds that seem a breath, 
Perfumed, bring no fear of death. 


Is it living thus to live? 

Has life nothing more to give? 

Ah, no more of smile or sigh — 

Life, the world, and love, good- 
bye. 


Gray, and passionless, and dim, 
Echoing of the solemn hymn, 
Lies the walk, ’twixt fern and rose, 
Here within the garden close. 


LOVE-SONG 


Ir Death should claim me for her 
own to-day, 
And softly I should falter from 
your side, 
Oh, tell me, loved one, would my 
memory stay, 
And would my image in your 
heart abide? 
Or should I be as some forgotten 
dream, 
That lives its little space, then 
fades entire? 
Should Time send o’er you its 
relentless stream, 
To cool your heart, and quench 
for aye love’s fire? 


I would not for the world, love, 
give you pain, 
Or ever compass what would 
cause you grief; 


[210 | 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


And, oh, how well I know that 
tears are vain! 
But love is sweet, my dear, and 
life is brief; 
So if some day before you I should 
go 
Beyond the sound and sight of 
song and sea, 
*T would give my spirit stronger 
wings to know 
‘That you remembered still and 
wept for me. 


SLOW THROUGH THE 
DARK 


SLOW moves the pageant of a 
climbing race; 
Their footsteps drag far, far be- 
low the height, 
And, unprevailing by their ut- 
most might, 
Seem faltering downward from 
each hard won place. 
No strange, swift-sprung excep- 
tion we; we trace 
A devious way thro’ dim, uncer- 
tain light,— 
Our hope, through the long 
vistaed years, a sight 
Of that our Captain’s soul sees 
face to face. 
Who, faithless, faltering that 
the road is steep, 
Now raiseth up his drear insistent 


cry? 


ay 


Who stoppeth here to spend a 
while in sleep 
Or curseth that the storm obscures 
the sky? 
Heed not the darkness round 
you, dull and deep; 
The clouds grow thickest when 
the summit ’s nigh. 


THE MURDERED LOVER 


SAY a mass for my soul’s repose, 
my brother, 
Say a mass for my soul’s repose, 
I need it, 
Lovingly lived we, the sons of one 
mother, 
Mine was the sin, but I pray 
you not heed it. 


Dark were her eyes as the sloe and 
they called me, 
Called me with voice indepen- 
dent of breath. 
God! how my heart beat; her 
beauty appalled me, 
Dazed me, and drew to the sea- 
brink of death. 


Lithe was her form like a willow. 
She beckoned, 
What could I do save to follow 
and follow, 
Nothing of right or result could be 
reckoned ; 
Life without her was unworthy 
and hollow. 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Ay, but I wronged thee, my 
brother, my brother ; 
Ah, but I loved her, thy beauti- 
ful wife. 
Shade of our father, and soul of 
our mother, 
Have I not paid for my love 
with my life? 


Dark was the night when, re- 
vengeful, I met you, 
Deep in the heart of a desolate 
land. 
Warm was the life-blood which 
angrily wet you 
Sharp was the knife that I felt 
from your hand. 


Wept you, oh, wept you, alone by 
the river, 
When my stark carcass you 
secretly sank. 
Ha, now I see that you tremble 
and shiver; 
”T was but my spirit that passed 
when you shrank! 


Weep not, oh, weep not, ’t is over, 
"tis over; 
Stir the dark weeds with the 
turn of the tide; 
Go, thou hast sent me forth, ever 
a rover, 
Rest and the sweet realm of 
heaven denied. 


Say a mass for my soul’s repose, 
my brother, 


Say a mass for my soul, I need 
it. 
Sin of mine was it, and sin of no 
other, 
Mine was it all, but I pray you 
not heed it. ; 


PHILOSOPHY 


I BEEN t’inkin’ ’bout de preachah; 
whut he said de othah 
night, 

"Bout hit bein’ people’s dooty, 
fu’ to keep dey faces bright; 

How one ought to live so pleasant 
dat ouah tempah never riles, 

Meetin’ evahbody roun’ us wid 
ouah very nicest smiles. 


Dat’s all right, I ain’t a-sputin’ 
not a t’ing dat soun’s lak 
fac’, 

But you don’t ketch folks a-grin- 
nin’ wid a misery in de 
back; 

An’ you don’t fin’ dem a-smilin’ 
w’en dey’s hongry ez kin 
be, 

Leastways, dat’s how human 
natur’ allus seems to pear 
to me. 


We is mos’ all putty likely fu’ to 
have our little cares, 
An’ I think we ’se doin’ fus’ rate 
w’en we jes’ go long and 
bears, 


[212] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Widout breakin’ up ouah faces in 
a sickly so’t o’ grin, 
W’en we knows dat in ouah in- 
nards we is p intly mad ez 
sin. 


Oh dey’s times fu’ bein’ pleasant 
an’ fu’ goin’ smilin’ roun’, 
’Cause I don’t believe in people 
allus totin’ roun’ a frown, 
But it’s easy ’nough to titter w’en 
de stew is smokin’ hot, 
But hit ’s mighty ha’d to giggle 
wen dey’s nuffin’ in de 
pot. 


A PREFERENCE 


MastTau drink his ol’ Made’a, 
Missy drink huh sherry wine, 
Ovahseah lak his whiskey, 
But dat othah drink is mine, 
Des’ ’lasses an’ watah, "lasses 
an’ watah. 


W’en you git a steamin’ hoe-cake 
On de table, go way, man! 
’D ain but one t’ing to go wid it, 
Sides de gravy in de pan, 
Dat ’s ’lasses an’ watah, ’lasses 
an’ watah. 


W’en hit ’s possum dat you eatin’, 
*Simmon beer is moughty sweet}; 
But fu’ evahday consumin’ 


*D ain’t no mo’tal way to beat 
Des’ ’lasses an’ watah, ’lasses 
an’ watah. 


W’y de bees is allus busy, 

An’ ain’ got no time to was’? 
Hit ’s beca’se dey knows de honey 
Dey ’s a makin’, gwine to tas’ 
Lak ‘lasses an’ watah, ’lasses 

an’ watah. 


Oh, hit’s moughty mil’ an’ 
soothin’, 
An’ hit don’ go to yo’ haid; 
Dat ’s de reason I’s a-backin’ 
Up de othah wo’ds I said, 
“Des ’lasses an’ watah, ’lasses 


an’ watah.” 


THE DEBT 


Tus is the debt I pay 
Just for one riotous day, 
Years of regret and grief, 
Sorrow without relief. 


Pay it I will to the end — 
Until the grave, my friend, 
Gives me a true release — 

Gives me the clasp of peace. 


Slight was the thing I bought, 
Small was the debt I thought, 
Poor was the loan at best — 
God! but the interest! 


was 3°] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


ON THE DEDICATION OF 
DOROTHY HALL 


TUSKEGEE, ALA., APRIL 22, 1901. 


Nor to the midnight of the gloomy 
past, 
Do we revert to-day; we look 
upon 
The golden present and the future 
vast 
Whose vistas show us visions of 
the dawn. 


Nor shall the sorrows of departed 
years 
The sweetness of our tranquil 
souls annoy, 
The sunshine of our hopes dispels 
the tears, 
And clears our eyes to see this 
later joy. 


Not ever in the years that God 
hath given 
Have we gone friendless down 
the thorny way, 
Always the clouds of pregnant 
black were riven 
By flashes from His own eternal 
day. 


The women of a race should be its 
pride; 
We glory in the strength our 
mothers had, 
We glory that this strength was 
not denied 


To labor bravely, nobly, and be 
glad. 


God give to these within this tem- 
ple here, 
Clear vision of the dignity of 
toil, 
That virtue in them may its blos- 
soms rear 
Unspotted, fragrant, from the 
lowly soil. 


God bless the givers for their noble 
deed, 
Shine on them with the mercy 
of Thy face, 
Who come with open hearts to 
help and speed 
The striving women of a strug- 
gling race. 


A ROADWAY 


Let those who will stride on their 
barren roads . 

And prick themselves to haste with 
self-made goads, 

Unheeding, as they struggle day 
by day, 

If flowers be sweet or skies be blue 
or gray: 

For me, the lone, cool way by purl- 
ing brooks, 

The solemn quiet of the woodland 
nooks, 

A song-bird somewhere trilling 
sadly gay, 


[214] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


A pause to pick a flower beside the 
way. 


BY RUGGED WAYS 


By rugged ways and thro’ the 
night 

We struggle blindly toward the 
light ; 

And groping, stumbling, ever pray 

For sight of long delaying day. 

The cruel thorns beside the road 

Stretch eager points our steps to 
goad, 

And from the thickets all about 

Detaining hands reach threatening 
out. 


“ Deliver us, oh, Lord,” we cry, 
Our hands uplifted to the sky. 

No answer save the thunder’s peal, 
And onward, onward, still we reel. 
“Oh, give us now thy guiding 


light; ” 

Our sole reply, the lightning’s 
blight. 

**'Vain, vain,” cries one, “in vain 
we call;”’ 


But faith serene is over all. 


Beside our way the streams are 
dried, 

And famine mates us side by side. 

Discouraged and reproachful eyes 

Seek once again the frowning skies. 

Yet shall there come, spite storm 
and shock, 

A Moses who shall smite the rock, 


Call manna from the Giver’s hand, 
And lead us to the promised land! 


The way is dark and cold and 
steep, 

And shapes of horror murder sleep, 

And hard the unrelenting years; 

But ’twixt our sighs and moans 
and tears, 

We still can smile, we still can 
sing, 

Despite the arduous journeying. 

For faith and hope their courage 
lend, 

And rest and light are at the end. 


LOVE’S SEASONS 


WHEN the bees are humming in 

the honeysuckle vine 
And the summer days are in 

their bloom, 

Then my love is deepest, oh, 

| dearest heart of mine, 

When the bees are humming in the 
honeysuckle vine. 


When the winds are moaning o’er 
the meadows chill and gray, — 
And the land is dim with winter 
gloom, 
Then for thee, my darling, love 
will have its way, 
When the winds are moaning o’er 
the meadows chill and gray. 


In the vernal dawning with the 
starting of the leaf, 


[215] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


In the merry-chanting time of 
spring, 
Love steals all my senses, oh, the 
happy-hearted thief! 
In the vernal morning with the 
starting of the leaf. 


Always, ever always, even in the 
autumn drear, 
When the days are sighing out 
their grief, 
Thou art still my darling, dear- 
est of the dear, 
Always, ever always, even in the 
autumn drear. 


TO-.A DEAD FRIEND 


IT is as if a silver chord 
Were suddenly grown mute, 
And life’s song with its rhythm 
warred 
Against a silver lute. 


It is as if a silence fell 
Where bides the garnered sheaf, 
And voices murmuring, “It is 
well,” 
Are stifled by our grief. 


It is as if the gloom of night 
Had hid a summer’s day, 
And willows, sighing at their 
plight, 
Bent low beside the way. 


For he was part of all the best 
That Nature loves and gives, 


_ And ever more on Memory’s breast 


He lies and laughs and lives. 


TO THE SOUTH 


ON ITS NEW SLAVERY 


Heart of the Southland, heed me 
pleading now, 


Who bearest, unashamed, upon 
my brow 

The long kiss of the loving tropic 
sun, 


And yet, whose veins with thy red 
current run. 


Borne on the bitter winds from 
every hand, 

Strange tales are flying over all the 
land, 

And Condemnation, with his pin- 
ions foul, 

Glooms in the place where broods 
the midnight owl. 


What art thou, that the world 
should point at thee, 

And vaunt and chide the weakness 
that they see? 

There was a time they were not 
wont to chide; 

Where is thy old, uncompromis- 
ing pride? 


Blood-washed, thou shouldst lift 
up thine honored head, 
White with the sorrow for thy 

loyal dead 


[216 | 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


\vho lie on every plain, on every 
hill, 

And whose high spirit walks the 
Southland still: 


Whose infancy our mother’s hands 
have nursed. 

Thy manhood, gone to battle un- 

| accursed, 

Our fathers left to till th’ re- 
luctant field, 

To rape the soil for what she 
would not yield; 


Wooing for aye, the cold unam’- 
rous sod, 

Whose growth for them 
meant a master’s rod; 

Tearing her bosom for the wealth 
that gave 

The strength that made the toiler 
still a slave. 


still 


Too long we hear the deep im- 
passioned cry 

That echoes vainly to the heedless 
sky ; 

Too long, too long, the Mace- 
donian call 

Falls fainting far beyond the out- 
ward wall, 


Within whose sweep, beneath the 
shadowing trees, 

A slumbering nation takes its 
dangerous ease; 

Too long the rumors of thy hatred 
go 


For those who loved thee and thy 
children so. 


Thou must arise forthwith, and 
strong, thou must 
Throw off the smirching of this 


baser dust, 

Lay by the practice of this later 
creed, 

And be thine honest self again 
indeed. 


There was a time when even slav- 
ery’s chain 

Held in some joys to alternate 
with pain, 

Some little light to give the night 
relief, 

Some little smiles to take the place 
of grief. 


There was a time when, jocund 
as the day, 

The toiler hoed his row and sung 
his lay, 

Found something gleeful in the 
very aif, 

And solace for his toiling every- 
where. 


Now all is changed, within the 
rude stockade, 

A bondsman whom the greed of 
men has made 

Almost too brutish to deplore his 
plight, 

Toils hopeless on from _ joyless 
morn till night. 


[217] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


For him no more the cabin’s quiet 
rest, 

The homely joys that gave to labor 
zest ; 

No more for him the merry banjo’s 
sound, 

Nor trip of lightsome dances foot- 
ing round. 


For him no more the lamp shall 
glow at eve, 

Nor chubby children pluck him by 
the sleeve; 

No more for him the master’s eyes 
be bright,— 

He has nor freedom’s nor a slave’s 
delight. 


What, was it all for naught, those 


awful years 

That drenched a groaning land 
with blood and tears? 

Was it to leave this sly convenient 
hell, 

That brother fighting his own 
brother fell? 


When that great struggle held the 
world in awe, 

And all the nations blanched at 
what they saw, 

Did Sanctioned Slavery bow its 
conquered head 
That this unsanctioned 

might rise instead? 


crime 


Is it for this we all have felt the 
flame,— 
newer bondage and_ this 

deeper shame? 

Nay, not for this, a nation’s heroes 
bled, 

And North and South with tears 
beheld their dead. 


‘This 


Oh, Mother South, hast thou for- 
got thy ways, 

Forgot the glory of thine ancient 
days, 

Forgot the honor that once made 
thee great, 

And stooped to this unhallowéd 
estate? 


It cannot last, thou wilt come 
forth in might, 

A warrior queen full armored for 
the fight; 

And thou wilt take, e’en with thy 
spear in rest, 

Thy dusky children to thy saving 
breast. 


Till then, no more, no more the 
gladsome song, 

Strike only deeper chords, the 
notes of wrong; 

Till then, the sigh, the tear, the 
oath, the moan, 

Till thou, oh, South, and thine, 
come to thine own. 


[218] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


THE HAUNTED OAK 


Pray why are you so bare, so bare, 
Oh, bough of the old oak-tree; 
And why, when I go through the 
shade you throw, 
Runs a shudder over me? 


My leaves were green as the best, 
I trow, 
And sap ran free in my veins, 
But I saw in the moonlight dim 
and weird 
A guiltless victim’s pains. 


I bent me down to hear his sigh; 
I shook with his gurgling moan, 
And I trembled sore when they 
rode away, 
And left him here alone. 


They ’d charged him with the old, 
old crime, 
And set him fast in jail: 
Oh, why does the dog howl all 
night long, 
And why does the night wind 
wail? 


He prayed his prayer and he swore 
his oath, 
And he raised his hand to the 
sky ; 
But the beat of hoofs smote on his 
ear, 
And the steady tread drew nigh. 


Who is it rides by night, by night, 
Over the moonlit road? 


And what is the spur that keeps 
the pace, 
What is the galling goad? 


And now they beat at the prison 
door, 
“Ho, keeper, do not stay! 
We are friends of him whom you 
hold within, 
And we fain would take him 
away 


“From those who ride fast on our 
heels 
With mind to do him wrong; 
They have no care for his inno- 
cence, 
the rope they bear is 
long.” 


And 


They have fooled the jailer with 
lying words, 
‘They have fooled the man with 
lies ; 
The bolts unbar, the locks are 
drawn, 
And the great door open flies. 


Now they have taken him from 
the jail, 
And hard and fast they ride, 
And the leader laughs low down 
in his throat, 
As they halt my trunk beside. 


Oh, the judge, he wore a mask of 
black, 
And the doctor cne of white, 


[219] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


And the minister, with his oldest 
son, 
Was curiously bedight. 


Oh, foolish man, why weep you 
now ? 
*T is but a little space, 
And the time will come when these 
shall dread 


The mem’ry of your face. 


I feel the rope against my bark, 
And the weight of him in my 
grain, 
I feel in the throe of his final woe 
The touch of my own last pain. 


And never more shall leaves come 
forth 
On a bough that bears the ban; 
I am burned with dread, I am 
dried and dead, 
From the curse of a guiltless 
man. 


And ever the judge rides by, rides 
by, 
And goes to hunt the deer, 
And ever another rides his soul 
In the guise of a mortal fear. 


And ever the man he rides me 
hard, 
And never a night stays he; 
For I feel his curse as a haunted 
bough, 
On the trunk of a haunted tree. 


WELTSCHMERTZ 


You ask why I am sad to-day, 

I have no cares, no griefs, you say? 

Ah, yes, "tis true, I have no 
grief — 

But— jis there not the falling 
leaf? 


The bare tree there is mourning 
left 

With all of autumn’s gray bereft; 

It is not what has happened me, 

Think of the bare, dismantled tree. 


The birds go South along the sky, 

I hear their lingering, long good- 
bye. 

Who goes reluctant from my 
breast ? 

And yet—the lone and wind- 
swept nest. 


The mourning,  pale-flowered 
hearse goes by, 

Why does a tear come to my eye? 

Is it the March rain blowing 
wild? 


I have no dead, I know no child. 


I am no widow by the bier 

Of him I held supremely dear. 

I have not seen the choicest one 

Sink down as sinks the westering 
sun. 


Faith unto faith have I beheld, 
For me, few solemn notes have ~ 
swelled ; | 


[220] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


~ Love bekoned me out to the dawn, 
And happily I followed on. 


And yet my heart goes out to 
them 

Whose sorrow is their diadem; 

The falling leaf, the crying bird, 

The voice to be, all lost, un- 

heard — 


Not mine, not mine, and yet too 


much 

The thrilling power of human 
touch, 

While all the world looks on and 
scorns 


I wear another’s crown of thorns. 


Count me a priest who under- 
stands 

The glorious pain of nail-pierced 
hands; 


Count me a comrade of the thief 
Hot driven into late belief. 


Oh, mother’s tear, oh, father’s sigh, 
Oh, mourning sweetheart’s last 


good-bye, 

I yet have known no mourning 
save 

Beside some brother’s brother’s 


grave. 


ROBERT GOULD SHAW 


Wuy was it that the thunder 
voice of Fate 
Should call thee, studious, from 
the classic groves, 


Where calm-eyed Pallas with 
still footstep roves, 
And charge thee seek the turmoil 
of the state? 
What bade thee hear the voice and 
rise elate, 
Leave home and kindred and 
thy spicy loaves, 
To lead th’ unlettered and de- 
spised droves 
To manhood’s home and thunder 
at the gate? 


Far better the slow blaze of Learn- 
ing’s light, 
The cool and quiet of her dearer 
fane, 
Than this hot terror of a hopeless 
fight, 
This cold endurance of the final 
pain,— 
Since thou and those who with 
thee died for right 
Have died, the Present teaches, 
but in vain! 


ROSES 


Ou, wind of the spring-time, oh, 
free wind of May, 
When blossoms and bird-song 


are rife; 
Oh, joy for the season, and joy for 
the day, 
That gave me the roses of life, 
of life, | 


That gave me the roses of life. 


[227] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Oh, wind of the summer, sing 
loud in the night, 
When flutters my heart like a 
dove; 
One came from thy kingdom, thy 
realm of delight, 
And gave me the roses of love, 
of love, 
And gave me the roses of love. 


Oh, wind of the winter, sigh low 
in thy grief, 

I hear thy compassionate breath; 

wither, I fall, like the autumn- 
kissed leaf, 

He gave me the roses of death, 
of death, 

He gave me the roses of death. 


rH 


A LOVE SONG 


AH, love, my love is like a cry in 
the night, 

A long, loud cry to the empty sky, 

The cry of a man alone in the 
desert, 

With hands uplifted, with parch- 
ing lips, 


Oh, rescue me, rescue me, 

Thy form to mine arms, 

The dew of thy lips to my mouth, 

Dost thou hear me?—my call 
thro’ the night? 


Darling, I hear thee and answer, 
Thy fountain am I, 


All of the love of my soul will I 
bring to thee, 

All of the pains of my being shall 
wring to thee, 

Deep and forever the song of my 
loving shall sing to thee, 
Ever and ever thro’ day and thro’ 

night shall I cling to thee. 
Hearest thou the answer? 
Darling, I come, I come. 


ITCHING HEELS 


Fu’ de peace o’ my eachin’ heels, 
set down; 
Don’ fiddle dat chune no mo’. 
Don’ you see how dat melody stuhs 
me up 
An’ baigs me to tek to de flo’? 
You knows I’s a Christian, good 
an’ strong; 
I wusship fom June to June; 
My pra’ahs dey ah loud an’ my 
hymns ah long: 
I baig you don’ fiddle dat chune. 


I’s a crick in my back an’ a mis- 
ery hyeah 
Whaih de j’ints’s gittin’ ol’ an’ 
stiff, 
But hit seems lak you brings me 
de bref o’ my youf; 
W’y, I’s suttain I noticed a 
w iff. 
Don’ fiddle dat chune no mo’, my 
chile, 
Don’ fiddle dat chune no mo’; 


[222] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


I’ll git up an’ taih up dis groun’ 
fu’ a mile, 
An’ den I ’ll be chu’ched fu’ it, 
sho’. 


Oh, fiddle dat chune some mo’, I 
say, 
An’ fiddle it loud an’ fas’: 
I’s a youngstah ergin in de mi’st 
oO my sin; 
De p’esent’s gone back to de 
pas’. 
Ill dance to dat chune, so des fid- 
dle erway; 
I knows how de 
feels; 
So fiddle it on ’twell de break o’ 
de day 
Fu’ de sake o’ my eachin’ heels. 


backslidah 


TO AN INGRATE 


Tuis is to-day, a golden summer’s 
day 
And yet — and yet 
My vengeful soul will not for- 
get 
The past, forever now forgot, you 
say. 


From that half height where I had 
sadly climbed, 
I stretched my hand, 
I lone in all that land, 
Down there, where, helpless, you 
were limed. 


Our fingers clasped, and dragging 
me a pace, 
You struggled up. 
It is a bitter Cup, 
That now for naught, you turn 
away your face. 


I shall remember this for aye and 
aye. 
Whate’er may come, 
Although my lips are dumb, 
My spirit holds you to that yester- 
day. 


IN THE TENTS OF AKBAR 


In the tents of Akbar 
Are dole and grief to-day, 
For the flower of all the Indies 
Has gone the silent way. 


In the tents of Akbar - 
Are emptiness and gloom, 
And where the dancers gather, 
The silence of the tomb. 


Across the yellow desert, 
Across the burning sands, 
Old Akbar wanders madly, 
And wrings his fevered hands. 


And ever makes his moaning 
To the unanswering sky, 

For Sutna, lovely Sutna, 
Who was so fair to die. 


For Sutna danced at morning, 
And Sutna danced at eve; 


[223] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Her dusky eyes half hidden 
Behind her silken sleeve. 


Her pearly teeth out-glancing 
Between her coral lips, 

The tremulous rhythm of passion 
Marked by her quivering hips. 


As lovely as a jewel 
Of fire and dewdrop blent, 
So danced the maiden Sutna 
In gallant Akbar’s tent. 


And one who saw her dancing, 
Saw her bosom’s fall and rise 

Put all his body’s yearning 
Into his lovelit eyes. 


Then Akbar came and drove 
him — 
A jackal — from his door, 
And bade him wander far and look 


On Sutna’s face no more. 


Some day the sea disgorges, 
The wilderness gives back, 
Those half-dead who have, wan- 
dered, 


Aimless, across its track. 


And he returned —the lover, 
Haggard of brow and spent; 

He found fair Sutna standing 
Before her master’s tent. 


“Not mine, nor Akbar’s, Sutna!” 
He cried and closely pressed, 

And drove his craven dagger 
Straight to the maiden’s breast. 


Oh, weep, oh, weep, for Sutna, 
So young, so dear, so fair, 

Her face is gray and silent 
Beneath her dusky hair. 


And wail, oh, wail, for Akbar, 
Who walks the desert sands, 

Crying aloud for Sutna, 
Wringing his fevered hands. 


In the tents of Akbar 
The tears of sorrow run, 

But the corpse of Sutna’s slayer, 
Lies rotting in the sun. 


THE FOUNT OF TEARS 


ALL hot and grimy from the road, 
Dust gray from arduous years, 

I sat me down and eased my load 
Beside the Fount of Tears. 


The waters sparkled to my eye, 
Calm, crystal-like, and cool, 

And breathing there a restful sigh, 
I bent me to the pool. 


When, lo! a voice cried: “ Pilgrim, 
rise, 
Harsh tho’ the sentence be, 
And on to other lands and skies — 
This fount is not for thee. 


“Pass on, but calm thy needless 
fears, 
Some may not love or sin, 
An angel guards the Fount of 
Tears; 
All may not bathe therein.” 


[224] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Then with my burden on my back 
I turned to gaze awhile, 

First at the uninviting track, 
Then at the water’s smile. 


And so I go upon my way, 
Thro’out the sultry years, 
But pause no more, by night, by 
day, 
Beside the Fount of Tears. 


LIFE’S TRAGEDY 


It may be misery not to sing at all 
And to go silent through the 
brimming day. 
It may be sorrow never to be 
loved, 
But deeper griefs than these 
beset the way. 


To have come near to sing the 
perfect song 
And only by a half-tone lost 
the key, 
There is the potent sorrow, there 
the grief, 
The pale, sad staring of life’s 
tragedy. 


To have just missed the perfect 
love, 
Not the hot passion of untem- 
pered youth, 
But that which lays aside its vanity 
And gives thee, for thy trusting 
worship, truth — 


This, this it is to be accursed in- 

deed ; 
For if we mortals love, or if we 

sing, 

We count our joys not by the 
things we have, 

But by what kept us from the 
perfect thing. 


DE WAY TINGS COME 


DE way tings come, hit seems to 
me, 
Is des’ one monst’ous mystery; 


- De way hit seem to strike a man, 


Dey ain’t no sense, dey ain’t no 
plan; 

Ef trouble sta’ts a pilin’ down, 

It ain’t no use to rage er frown, 

It ain’t no use to strive er pray, 

Hit’s mortal boun’ to come dat 
way. 


Now, ef you’s hongry, an’ yo’ plate 

Des’ keep on 
“Wait,” 

Don’t mek no diffunce how you 
feel, 

"T won’t do no good to hunt a 
meal, 

Fw’ dat ah meal des’ boun’ to hide 

Ontwell de devil’s satisfied, 

An’ ’twell dey’s some’p’n by to 
cyave 

You ’s got to ease yo’se’f an’ sta’ve. 


pe J 
sayin to you, 


But ef dey ’s co’n meal on de she’f 
You need n’t bothah ’roun’ yo’se’f, 


[225] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Somebody ’s boun’ to amble in 

An’ ’vite you to dey co’n meal bin; 

An’ ef you’s stuffed up to be froat 

Wid co’n er middlin’, fowl er 
shoat, 

Des’ look out an’ you'll see fu’ 
sho 

A ’possum faint befo’ yo’ do’. 


De way tings happen, huhuh, 
chile, 

Dis worl’’s done puzzled me one 
wile; 

I’s mighty skeered Ill fall in 
doubt, 

I des’ won’t try to reason out 

De reason why folks strive an’ 
plan 

A dinnah fu’ a full-fed man, 

An’ shet de do’ an’ cross de street 

F’om one dat raaly needs to eat. 


NOON 


SHADDER in de valley 
Sunlight on de hill, 
Sut’ny wish dat locus’ 
Knowed how to be still. 
Don’t de heat already 
Mek a body hum, 

*Dout dat insec’ sayin’ 
Hottah days to éome? 


Fiel’’s a shinin’ yaller 
Wid de bendin’ grain, 
Guinea hen a callin’, 
Now ’s de time fu’ rain; 


[226] 


Shet yo’ mouf, you rascal, 
Wha’’s de use to cry? 
You do’ see no rain clouds 


Up dah in de sky. 


Dis hyeah sweat ’s been po’in’ 
Down my face sence dawn; 
Ain’t hit time we’s hyeahin’ 
Dat ah dinnah ho’n? 

Go on, Ben an’ Jaspah, 

Lif’ yo’ feet an’ fly, 

Hit out fu’ de shadder 

Fo’ I drap an’ die. 


Hongry, lawd a’ mussy, 
Hongry as a baih, 
Seems lak I hyeah dinnah 


Callin’ evahwhaih; 


Daih’s de ho’n a blowin’! 
Let dat cradle swing, 
One mo’ sweep, den da’kies, 
Beat me to de spring! 


AT THE TAVERN 


A LILT and a swing, 
And a ditty to sing, 
Or ever the night grow old; 
The wine is within, 
And I’m sure ’t were a sin 


For a soldier to choose to be cold, 


my dear, 


For a soldier to choose to be cold. 


We’re right for a spell, 
But the fever is — well, 


No thing to be braved, at least; 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


So bring me the wine; 
No low fever in mine, 
For a drink is more kind than a 
priest, my dear, 
For a drink is more kind than a 
priest. 


DEATH 


Storm and strife and stress, 
Lost in a wilderness, 
Groping to find a way, 
Forth to the haunts of day 


Sudden a vista peeps, 
Out of the tangled deeps, 
Only a point — the ray 
But at the end is day. 


Dark is the dawn and chill, 
Daylight is on the hill, 

Night is the flitting breath, 
Day rides the hills of death. 


NIGHT, DIM NIGHT 


Night, dim night, and it rains, my 
love, it rains, 
(Art thou dreaming of me, I 
wonder) 
The trees are sad, and the wind 
complains, 
Outside the rolling of the thun- 
der, 
And the beat against the panes. 


Heart, my heart, thou art mourn- 
ful in the rain, 


(Are thy redolent lips a- 
quiver ?) 
My soul seeks thine, doth it seek 
in vain? 
My love goes surging like a 
river, 
Shall its tide bear naught save 
pain? 


[227] 





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I 


Love is the light of the world, my 
dear, 
Heigho, but 
gloomy ; 
The light has failed and the lamp 
down hurled, 
Leaves only darkness to me. 


the 


Love is the light of the world, my 
dear, 
Ah me, but the world is dreary; 
The night is down, and my curtain 
furled 
But I cannot sleep, 
weary. 


though 


Love is the light of the world, my 
dear, 

Alas for a hopeless hoping, 
When the flame went out in the 
breeze that swirled, 

And a soul went blindly grop- 
ing. 


II 


Tue light was on the golden 
sands, 
A glimmer on the sea; 
My soul spoke clearly to thy soul, 
Thy spirit answered me. 


Since then the light that gilds the 
sands, 
And glimmers on the sea, 


world is 


But vainly struggles to reflect 
The radiant soul of thee. 


III 


‘THE sea speaks to me of you 
All the day long; 

Still as I sit by its side 
You are its song. 


The sea sings to me of you 
Loud on the reef; 

Always it moans as it sings, 
Voicing my grief. 


IV 


My dear love died last night; 
Shall I clothe her in white? 
My passionate love is dead, 
Shall I robe her in red? 
But nay, she was all untrue, 
She shall not go drest in blue; 
Still my desolate love was brave, 
Unrobed let her go to her grave. 


V 


THERE are brilliant heights of 
Sorrow 
That only the few may know; 
And the lesser woes of the world, 
like waves, 
Break noiselessly, far below. 
I hold for my own possessing, 
A mount that is lone and still — 
The great high place of a hopeless 
grief, 


[231] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


And I call it my ‘“‘ Heart-break Only two shades of a thing that 


Hill.” died, 
And once on a winter’s midnight Once in the long ago. 
I found its highest crown, So I sit me down in the silence, 
And there in the gloom, my soul And say to my soul, “ Be still,” 
and I, So the world may not know we 
Weeping, we sat us down. died that night, 
From weeping on “ Heart-break 
But now when I seek that summit Hill.” 


We are two ghosts that go; 


[232] 


A BOY’S SUMMER SONG 


Tis fine to play 

In the fragrant hay, 
And romp on the golden load; 

To ride old Jack 

To the barn and back, 
Or tramp by a shady road. 

To pause and drink, 

At a mossy brink; 
Ah, that is the best of joy, 

And so I say 

On a summer’s day, 
What’s so fine as being a boy? 

Ha, Ha! 


With line and hook 

By a babbling brook, 
The fisherman’s sport we ply; 

And list the song 

Of the feathered throng 
That flit in the branches nigh. 

At last we strip 

For a quiet dip; 
Ah, that is the best of joy. 

For this I say 

On a summer’s day, 
What’s so fine as being a boy? 

Ha, Ha! 


THE SAND-MAN 


I KNOW a man 
With face of tan, 
But who is ever kind; 


Whom girls and boys 
Leaves games and toys 
Each eventide to find. 


When day grows dim, 
They watch for him, 
He comes to place his claim; 
He wears the crown 
Of Dreaming-town; 
‘The sand-man is his name. 


When sparkling eyes 
Troop sleepywise 
And busy lips grow dumb; 
When little heads 

Nod toward the beds, 


We know the sand-man’s come. 


JOHNNY SPEAKS 


THE sand-man he’s a jolly old 
fellow, 

His face is kind and his voice is 
mellow, 

But he makes your eyelids as heavy 
as lead, 

And then you got to go off to bed; 

I don’t think I like the sand- 


man. 


But I’ve been playing this live- 
long day; 

It does make a fellow so tired to 
play! 

Oh, my, I’m a-yawning right here 
before ma, 


[235] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


I’m the sleepiest fellow that ever 
you saw. 


I think I do like the sand-man. 


WINTER-SONG 


Ou, who would be sad tho’ the 
sky be a-graying, 
And meadow and woodlands are 
empty and bare; 
For softly and merrily now there 
come playing, 
The little white birds thro’ the 


winter-kissed air. 


The squirrel’s enjoying the rest 
of the thrifty, 
He munches his store in the old 
hollow tree; 
Tho’ cold is the blast and the 
snow-flakes are drifty 
He fears the white flock not a 
whit more than we. 


Chorus: 


Then heigho for the flying snow! 
Over the whitened roads we go, 
With pulses that tingle, 
And sleigh-bells a-jingle 
For winter’s white birds here’s a 
cheery heigho! 


A CHRISTMAS FOLKSONG 


De win’ is blowin’. wahmah, 
An hit’s blowin’ f’om de bay; 
Dey’s a so’t 0’ mist a-risin’ 
All erlong de meddah way; 


Dey ain’t a hint o’ frostin’ 
On de groun’ ner in de sky, 
An’ dey ain’t no use in hopin’ 
Dat de snow’ll ’mence to fly. 
It’s goin’ to be a green Christ- 
mas, we 
An’ sad de day fu’ me. 
I wish dis was de las’ one 
Dat evah I should see. 


Dey’s dancin’ in de cabin, 
Dey’s spahkin’ by de tree; 
But dancin’ times an’ spahkin’ 
Are all done pas’ fur me. 
Dey’s feastin’ in de big house, 
Wid all de windahs wide — 
Is dat de way fu’ people 
To meet de Christmas-tide? 
It’s goin’ to be a green Christ- 
) mas, 
No mattah what you say. 
Dey’s us dat will remembah 
An’ grieve de comin’ day. 


Dey’s des a bref 0’ dampness 
A-clingin’ to my cheek; 
De aih’s been dahk an’ heavy 
An’ threatenin’ fu’ a week, 
But not wid signs o’ wintah, 
Dough wintah’d seem so deah — 
De wintah’s out o’ season, 
An’ Christmas eve is heah. 
It’s goin’ to be a green Christ- 
mas, 
An’ oh, how sad de day! 
Go ax de hongry chu’chya’d, 
An’ see what hit will say. 


[236] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


he's Allen on de hillside, 
An’ Marfy in de plain; 


Fu’ Christmas was like springtime, — 


An’ come wid sun an’ rain. 
Dey’s Ca’line, John, an’ Susie, 
Wid only dis one lef’: 
An’ now de curse is comin’ 
Wid murder in hits bref. 
It’s goin’ to be a green Christ- 
mas — 
Des hyeah my words an’ 
see: 
Befo’ de summah beckons 
. Dey’s many ll weep wid 
me. 


THE FOREST GREETING 


Goop hunting! — aye, good hunt- 
ing, 7 
Wherever the forests call; 
But ever a heart beats hot with 
fear, 
And what of the birds that fall? 


Good hunting! — aye, good hunt- 


ing, 
Wherever the north winds 
blow; 
But what of the stag that calls for 
his mate? 


And what of the wounded doe? 


Good hunting! — aye, good hunt- 
ing; 
And ah! we are bold and strong; 


But our triumph call through the 
forest hall 
Is a brother’s funeral song. 


For we are brothers ever, 
Panther and bird and bear; 
Man and the weakest that fear his 
face, 
Born to the nest or lair. 


Yes, brothers, and who shall judge 
us? 
Hunters and game are we; 
But who gave the right for me to 
smite ? 
Who boasts when he smiteth me? 


Good hunting! — aye, good hunt- 
ing, 
And dim is the forest track; 
But the sportsman Death comes 
striding on: 
Brothers, the way is black. 


THE LILY OF THE VALLEY 


SWEETEST of the flowers a-bloom- 
ing 
In the fragrant vernal days 
Is the Lily of the Valley 
With its soft, retiring ways. 


Well, you chose this humble blos- 
som 
As the nurse’s emblem flower, 
Who grows more like her ideal 
Every day and every hour. 


1237] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Like the Lily of the Valley 
In her honesty and worth, 
Ah, she blooms in truth and virtue 
In the quiet nooks of earth. 


Tho’ she stands erect in honor 
When the heart of mankind 
bleeds, 
Still she hides her own deserving 
In the beauty of her deeds. 


In the silence of the darkness 
Where no eye may see and know, 
There her footsteps shod with 
mercy, 
And fleet kindness come and go. 


Not amid the sounds of plaudits, 
Nor before the garish day, 
Does she shed her soul’s sweet per- 
fume, 
Does she take her gentle way. 


But alike her ideal flower, 
With its honey-laden breath, 
Still her heart blooms forth its 
beauty 
In the valley shades of death. 


ENCOURAGED 


BECAUSE you love me I have 
much achieved, 
Had you despised me then I must 
have failed, 
But since I knew you trusted 
and believed, 


I could not disappoint you and so 
prevailed. 


TOL. 


Wuart are the things that make 
life bright? 
A star gleam in the night. 
What hearts us for the coming 
fray? 
The dawn tints of the day. 
What helps to speed the weary 
mile? 
A brother’s friendly smile. 
What turns o’ gold the evening 
gray? 
A flower beside the way. 


DIPLOMACY 


TELL your love where the roses 
blow, 
And the hearts of the lilies 
quiver, : 
Not in the city’s gleam and glow, 
But down by a half-sunned river. 
Not in the crowded ball-room’s 
glare, 
That would be fatal, Marie, 
Marie, 
How can she answer you then and 
there? 
So come then and stroll with me, 
my dear, 
Down where the birds call, 
Marie, Marie. 


[238] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


SCAMP 


AIN’T it nice to have a mammy 
W’en you kin’ o’ tiahed out 
Wid a-playin’ in de meddah, 
An’ a-runnin’ roun’ about 
Till hit’s made you mighty hongry, 
An’ yo’ nose hit gits to know 
What de smell means dat’s a- 
comin’ 
F’om de open cabin do’? 
She wash yo’ face, 
An’ mek yo’ place, 
You’s hongry as a tramp; 
Den hit’s eat you suppah right 
away, 
You sta’vin’ little scamp. 


W’en you’s full o’ braid an’ bacon, 
An’ dey ain’t no mo’ to eat, 
An’ de lasses dat’s a-stickin’ 
On yo’ face ta’se kin’ o’ sweet, 
Don’ you t’ink hit’s kin’ o’ pleasin’ 
Fw’ to have som’body neah 
Dat’ll wipe yo’ han’s an’ kiss you 
Fo’ dey lif? you f’om you’ cheah? 
To smile so sweet, 
An’ wash yo’ feet, 
An’ leave ’em co’l an’ damp; 
Den hit’s come let me undress 
you, now 
You lazy little scamp. 


Don’ yo’ eyes git awful heavy, 
An’ yo’ lip git awful slack, 
Ain’t dey som’p’n’ kin’ 0’ weak- 
nin’ 
In de backbone of yo’ back? 


Don’ yo’ knees feel kin’ o’ trimbly, 
An’ yo’ head go bobbin’ roun’, 
W’en you says yo’ “ Now [I lay 
me,” 
An’ is sno’in on de “ down”? 
She kiss yo’ nose, 
She kiss yo’ toes, 
An’ den tu’n out de lamp, 
Den hit’s creep into yo’ trunnel 
baid, 
You sleepy little scamp. 


WADIN’ IN DE CRICK 


Days git wa’m an’ wa’mah, 
School gits mighty dull, 
Seems lak dese hyeah teachahs 

Mus’ feel mussiful. 
Hookey’s wrong, I know it 

Ain’t no gent’man’s trick; 
But de aih’s a-callin’, 

Come on to de crick.” 


Dah de watah’s gu’glin’ 
Ovah shiny stones, 
Des hit’s ve’y singin’ 
Seems to soothe yo’ bones. 
W’at’s de use 0’ waitin’ 
Go on good an’ quick: 
Dain’t no fun lak dis hyeah 
Wadin’ in de crick. 


W’at dat jay-b’ud sayin’? 
Bettah shet yo’ haid, 

Fus’ t’ing dat you fin’ out, 
You'll be layin’ daid. 


[239] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Jay-bu’ds sich a tattlah, 
Des seem lak his trick 

Fu’ to tell on folkses 
Wadin’ in de crick. 


Willer boughs a-bendin’ 
Hidin’ of de sky, 
Wavin’ kin’ o’ frien’ly 
Ez de win’ go by, 
Elum trees a-shinin’, 
Dahk an’ green an’ thick, 
Seem to say, ‘I see yo’ 


Wadin’ in de crick.” 


But de trees don’ chattah, 
Dey des look an’ sigh 

Lak hit’s kin’ o’ peaceful 
Des a-bein’ nigh, 

An’ yo’ t’ank yo’ Mastah 
Dat dey trunks is thick 

W’en yo’ mammy fin’s you 


Wadin’ in de crick. 


Den yo’ run behin’ dem 

Lak yo’ scaihed to def, 
Mammy come a-flyin’, 

Mos’ nigh out o’ bref; 
But she set down gentle 

An’ she drap huh stick,— 
An’ fus’ t’ing, dey’s mammy 


Wadin’ in de crick. 


THE QUILTING 


Dotty sits a-quilting by her 
mother, stich by stitch, 

Gracious, how my pulses throb, 
how my fingers itch, 


While I note her dainty waist and 
her slender hand, 

As she matches this and that, she 
stitches strand by strand. 
And I long to tell her Life’s a 
quilt and I’m a patch; 

Love will do the stitching if she’ll 
only be my match. 


PARTED 


SHE wrapped her soul in a lace of 
lies, 
With a prime deceit to pin it; 
And I thought I was gaining a 
fearsome prize, 
So I staked my soul to win it. 


We wed and parted on her com- 
plaint, 
And both were a bit of barter, 
Tho’ I’ll confess that I’m no saint, 
I'll swear that she’s no martyr. 


FOREVER 


I HAD not known before 
Forever was so long a word. 
The slow stroke of the clock of 
time 


I had not heard. 


"Tis hard to learn so late; 
It seems no sad heart really 
learns, 
But hopes and trusts and doubts 
and fears, 


And bleeds and burns. 


[240] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


The night is not all dark, 
Nor is the day all it seems, 
But each may bring me this re- 
lief — 
My dreams and dreams. 


I had not known before 

That Never was so sad a word, 
So wrap me in forgetfulness — 

I have not heard. 


THE PLANTATION 
CHILD’S LULLABY 


WINTAH time hit comin’ 
Stealin’ thoo de night; 
Wake up in the mo’nin’ 
Evah t’ing is white; 
Cabin lookin’ lonesome 
Stannin’ in de snow, 
Meks you kin’ o’ nervous, 
W’en de win’ hit blow. 


Trompin’ back from feedin’, 
Col’ an’ wet an’ blue, 

Homespun jacket ragged, 
Win’ a-blowin’ thoo. 

Cabin lookin’ cheerful, 
Unnerneaf de do’, 

Yet you kin’ o’ keerful 

W’en de win’ hit blow. 


Hickory log a-blazin’ 
Light a-lookin’ red, 
Faith 0’ eyes o’ peepin’ 
*Rom a trun’le bed, 
Little feet a-patterin’ 

Cleak across de flo’; 


Bettah had be keerful 
W’en de win’ hit blow. 


_ Suppah done an’ ovah, 
Evah ting is still; 
Listen to de snowman 

Slippin’ down de hill. 
Ashes on de fiah, 

Keep it wa’m but low. 
What’s de use 0’ keerin’ 

Ef de win’ do blow? 


Smoke house full o’ bacon, 

Brown an’ sweet an’ good; 
Taters in de cellah, 

*Possum roam de wood; 
Little baby snoozin’ 

Des ez ef he know. 
What’s de use o’ keerin’ 

Ef de win’ do blow? 


TWILIGHT 


”*TWIxT a smile and a tear, 
*T wixt a song and a sigh, 

*T wixt the day and the dark, 
When the night draweth nigh. 


Ah, sunshine may fade 
From the heavens above, 
No twilight have we 
To the day of our love. 


CURIOSITY 


Mammy’s in de kitchen, an’ de 
do’ is shet; 

All de pickaninnies climb an’ tug 
an’ sweat, 


[241] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Gittin’ to de winder, stickin’ dah 
lak flies, 

Evah one ermong us des all nose 
an’ eyes. 


“'Whut’s she cookin’, Isaac?” 
“ Whut’s she cookin’, Jake? ” 

“Ts it sweet pertaters? Is hit pie 
er cake?” 

But we couldn’t mek out even 
whah we stood , 

Whut was mammy cookin’ dat 
could smell so good. 


Mammy spread de winder, an’ 
she frown an’ frown, 

How de pickaninnies come a-tum- 
blin’ down! 

Den she say: “Ef you-all keeps 
a-peepin’ in, 

How I’se gwine to whup you, my! 
t “ill be a sin! 

Need n’ come a-sniffin’ an’ a-nosin’ 
hyeah, 

’Ca’se I knows my business, nevah 
feah.” 

Won’t somebody tell us — how I 
wish dey would! — 

Whut is mammy cookin’ dat it 
smells so good? 


We know she means business, an’ 
we dassent stay, 

Dough it’s mighty tryin’ fuh to 
go erway; 

But we goes a-troopin’ down de 
ol’ wood-track 


*Twell dat steamin’ kitchen brings 
us stealin’ back, 

Climbin’ an’ a-peepin’ so’s to see 
inside. 

Whut on earf kin mammy be so 
sha’p to hide? 

I'd des up an’ tell folks w’en I 
knowed I could, 

Ef-I was a-cookin’ t’ings dat smelt 
so good. 


Mammy in de oven, an’ I see huh 
smile ; 

Moufs mus’ be a-wat’rin’ roun’ 
hyeah fuh a mile; 

Den we almos’ hollah ez we hu’ies 
down, 

’Ca’se hit’s apple dumplin’s, big an’ 
fat an’ brown! 

W’en de do’ is opened, solemn lak 


an’ slow, 

Wisht you see us settin’ all dah 
in a row 

Innercent an’ p’opah, des lak chill- 
un should 


W’en dey mammy’s cookin’ t’ings 
dat smell so good. 


OPPORTUNITY 


GRANNY’S gone a-visitin’, 
Seen huh git huh shawl 
W’en I was a-hidin’ down 
Hime de gyahden wall. 
Seen huh put her bonnet on, 
Seen huh tie de strings, 
An’ I’se gone to dreamin’ now 
"Bout dem cakes an’ t’ings. 


[242 ] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


On de she’f behime de do’— 
Mussy, what a feas’! 

Soon ez she gits out o’ sight, 
I kin eat in peace. 

I bin watchin’ fu’ a week 
Des fu’ dis hyeah chance. 

Mussy, w’en I gits in daih, 
Ill des sholy dance. 


Lemon pie an’ gingah-cake, 
Let me set an’ t’ink — 

Vinegah an’ sugah, too, 
Dat’ll mek a drink; 

Ef dey’s one t’ing dat I loves 
Mos’ pu'ticlahly, 

It is eatin’ sweet t’ings an’ 
A-drinkin’ Sangaree. 


Lawdy, won’ po’ granny raih 
W’en she see de she’f; 

W’en I tink erbout huh face, 
I’s mos’ ’shamed myse’f. 

Well, she gone, an ’hyeah I is, 
Back behime de do’— 

Look hyeah! gran’ ’s done ’spected 

me, 

Dain’t no sweets no mo’. 


Evah sweet is hid erway, 
Job des done up brown; 

Pusson t’ink dat someun t’ought 
Dey was t’eves erroun’; 

Dat des breaks my heart in two, 
Oh how bad I feel! 

Des to tink my own gramma 


B’lieved dat I ’u’d steal! 


PUTTIN’ THE BABY 
AWAY 


EIGHT of ’em hyeah all tol’ an’ yet 

Dese eyes 0’ mine is wringin’ wet; 

My haht’s a-achin’ ha’d an’ so’, 

De way hit nevah ached befo’ ; 

My soul’s a-pleadin’, “ Lawd, give 
back 

Dis little lonesome baby black, 

Dis one, dis las’ po’ he’pless one 

Whose little race was too soon 
run.” 


Po’ Little Jim, des fo’ yeahs ol’ 

A-layin’ down so still an’ col’. 

Somehow hit don’ seem ha’dly 
faih, 

To have my baby lyin’ daih 

Wi’dout a smile upon his face, 

Wi dout a look erbout de place; 

He ust to be so full o’ fun 

Hit don’ seem right dat all’s done, 
done. 


Des eight in all but I don’ caih, 
Dey wa’nt a single one to spaih; 
De worl’ was big, so was my haht, 
An’ dis hyeah baby owned hit’s 


paht; 

De house was po’, dey clothes was 
rough, 

But daih was meat an’ meal 
enough; 


An’ daih was room fw’ little Jim; 
Oh! Lawd, what made you call fw’ 
him? 


[243] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


It do seem monst’ous ha’d to-day, 

To lay dis baby boy away; 

I’d learned to love his teasin’ 
smile, 

He mought o’ des been lef’ er- 
while; 

You wouldn’t t’ought wid all de 
folks, 

Dat’s roun’ hyeah mixin’ teahs an’ 
jokes, 

De Lawd u’d had de time to see 

Dis chile an’ tek him ’way f’om 
me. 


But let it go, I reckon Jim, 

"LI des go right straight up to 
Him 

Dat took him f’om his mammy’s 
nest 

An’ lef’ dis achin’ in my breas’, 

An’ lookin’ in dat fathah’s face 

An’ ’memberin’ dis lone sorrerin’ 
place, 

He'll say, “‘ Good Lawd, you ought 
to had 


Do sumpin’ fu’ to comfo’t dad!” 


THE FISHER CHILD’S LUL- 
LABY 


THE wind is out in its rage to- 
night, 

And your father is far at sea. 
The rime on the window is hard 
and white 
But dear, you are near to me. 


Heave ho, weave low, 
Waves of the briny deep; 
Seethe low and breathe low, 
But sleep you, my little one, 
sleep, sleep. 


The little boat rocks in the cove no 
more, 
But the flying sea-gulls wail; 
I peer through the darkness that 
wraps the shore, 
For sight of a home set sail. 
Heave ho, weave low, 
Waves of the briny deep; 
Seethe low and breathe low, 
But sleep you, my little one, 
sleep, sleep. 


Ay, lad of mine, thy father may 
die 
In the gale that rides the sea, 
But we'll not believe it, not you 
and I, 
Who mind us of Galilee. 
Heave ho, weave low, 
Waves of the briny deep; 
Seethe low and breathe low, 
But sleep you, my little one, 
sleep, sleep. 


FAITH 


I’s a-gittin’ weary of de way dat 
people do, . 

De folks dat’s got dey ’ligion in 
dey fiah-place an’ flue; 

Dey’s allus somep’n comin’ so de 
spit’ll have to turn, 


[244] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


An’ hit tain’t no p’oposition fu’ to 
mek de hickory bu’n. 

Ef de sweet pertater fails us an’ de 
go geous yallah yam, 

We kin tek a bit 0’ comfo’t f’om 
ouah sto’ o’ summah jam. 
W’en de snow hit git to flyin’, 

dat’s de Mastah’s own desiah, 
De Lawd’ll run de wintah an’ yo’ 
mammy ll run de fiah. 


I ain’ skeered because de win’ hit 
staht to raih and blow, 

I ain’t bothahed w’en he come er 
rattlin’ at de do’, 

Let him taih hisse’f an’ shout, let 
him blow an’ bawl, 


Dat’s de time de branches shek an’ 
bresh-wood ’mence to fall. 

W’en de sto’m er railin’ an’ de 
shettahs blowin’ ’bout, 

Dat de time de fiah-place crack 
hits welcome out. 

Tain’ my livin’ business fu’ to 
trouble ner enquiah, 

De Lawd’ll min’ de wintah an’ my 
mammy’ll min’ de fiah. 


Ash-cake allus gits ez brown w’en 
February’s hyeah 

Ez it does in bakin’ any othah time 
o yeah, 

De bacon smell ez callin’-like, de 
kittle rock an’ sing, 

De same way in de wintah dat dey 
do it in de spring; 


Dey ain’t no use in mopin’ ’round 
an’ lookin’ mad an’ glum 
Erbout de wintah season, fu’ hit’s 
des plumb boun’ to come; 


An’ ef it comes to runnin’ t’ings © 
I’s willin’ to retiah, 

De Lawd’ll min’ de wintah an’ 
my mammy’ll min’ de fiah. 


THE FARM CHILD'S 
LULLABY 


Ou, the little bird is rocking in 
the cradle of the wind, 
And it’s bye, my little wee one, 
bye; 
The harvest all is gathered and 
the pippins all are binned; 
Bye, my little wee one, bye; 
The little rabbit’s hiding in the 
golden shock of corn, 
thrifty squirrel’s laughing 
bunny’s idleness to scorn; 
You are smiling with the angels 
in your slumber, smile till 
morn; 
So it’s bye, my little wee one, 
bye. 


The 


There'll be plenty in the cellar, 
there’ll be plenty on the 
shelf ; 

Bye, my little wee one, bye; 

There'll be goodly store of sweet- 
ings for a dainty little elf; 

Bye, my little wee one, bye. 


[245] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


The snow may be a-flying o’er the 
meadow and the hill, 

The ice has checked the chatter of 
the little laughing rill, 

But in your cosey cradle you are 
warm and happy still; 

So bye, my little wee one, bye. 


t 


Why, the Bob White thinks the 
snowflake is a brother to his 
song; 

Bye, my little wee one, bye; 

And the chimney sings the sweeter 
when the wind is blowing 
strong; 

Bye, my little wee one, bye; 
The granary’s overflowing, full is 
cellar, crib, and bin, 

The wood has paid its tribute and 

the ax has ceased its din; 

The winter may not harm you 
when you're sheltered safe 
within; 

So bye, my little wee one, bye. 


. THE PLACE WHERE THE 


RAINBOW ENDS 


THERE'S a fabulous story 
Full of splendor and glory, 
That Arabian legends trans- 
cends; 
Of the wealth without measure, 
The coffers of treasure, 
At the place where the rainbow 
ends. 


Oh, many have sought it, 
And all would have bought it, 
With the blood we so recklessly 
spend ; 
But none has uncovered, 
The gold, nor discovered 
The spot at the rainbow’s end. 


They have sought it in battle, 
And e’en where the rattle 
Of dice with man’s blasphemy 
blends; 
But howe’er persuasive, 
It still proves evasive, 
This place where the rainbow 
ends. 


I own for my pleasure, 
I yearn not for treasure, 
Though gold has a power it 
lends; 
And I have a notion, 
To find without motion, 
The place where the rainbow 
ends. 


The pot may hold pottage, 
The place be a cottage, 
That a humble contentment de- 
fends, 
Only joy fills its coffer, 
But spite of the scoffer, 
There’s the place where the rain. 
bow ends. 


Where care shall be quiet, 
And love shall run riot, 


[246] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


And I shall find wealth in my 
friends; 
Then truce to the story, 
Of riches and glory; 
There’s the place where the rain- 
bow ends. 


HOPE 


De dog go howlin’ ’long de road, 
De night come shiverin’ down; 
My back is tiahed of its load, 
I cain’t be fu’ f’om town. 
No mattah ef de way is long, 
My haht is swellin’ wid a song, 
No mattah “bout de frownin’ 
skies, 
I’]l soon be home to see my Lize. 


My shadder staggah on de way, 
It’s monstous col’ to-night; 

But I kin hyeah my honey say 
“'W’y bless me if de sight 

O’ you ain’t good fu’ my so’ 

- eyes.” 

(Dat talk’s dis lak my lady Lize) 
I’s so’y case de way was long 
But Lawd you bring me love 

an’ song. 


No mattah ef de way is long, 
An’ ef I trimbles so’ 


I knows de fiah’s burnin’ strong, 


Behime my Lizy’s do’. 
An’ daih my res’ an’ joy shell be, 
Whaih my ol’ wife’s awaitin’ 
me — 


Why what I keer fu’ stingin’ 
blas’, 
I see huh windah light at las’. 


APPRECIATION 


My muvwver’s ist the nicest one 
"At ever lived wiz folks; 
She lets you have ze mostes’ fun, 
An’ laffs at all your jokes. 


I got a ol’ maid auntie, too, 
The worst you ever saw; 
Her eyes ist bore you through and 
through,— 
She ain’t a bit like ma. 


She’s ist as slim as slim can be, 
An’ when you want to slide 
Down on ze balusters, w’y she 

Says ’at she’s harrified. 


She ain’t as nice as Uncle Ben, 
What says ’at little boys 

Won’t never grow to be big men 
Unless they’re fond of noise. 


But muvver’s nicer zan ’em all, 
She calls you, ‘‘ precious lamb,” 

An’ let’s you roll your ten-pin ball, 
An’ spreads your bread wiz jam. 


An’ when you’re bad, she ist looks 
sad, 
You fink she’s goin’ to cry; 
An’ when she don’t you’re awful 
glad, 
An’ den you’re good, Oh, my! 


[247] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


At night, she takes ze softest 
hand, 
An’ lays it on your head, 
An’ says “ Be off to Sleepy-Land 
By way o’ trundle-bed.” 


So when you fink what muvver 
knows 
An’ aunts an’ uncle tan’t, 
It skeers a feller; ist suppose 
His muvver ’d been a aunt. 


A SONG 


On a summer’s day as I sat by a 
stream, 
A dainty maid came by, 
And she blessed my sight like a 
rosy dream, 
And left me there to sigh, to 
sigh, 
And left me there to sigh, to 
sigh. 


On another day as I sat by the 
stream, 
This maiden paused a while, 
Then I made me bold as I told 
my dream, 
She heard it with a smile, a 
smile, 


She heard it with a smile, a 


smile. 


Oh, the months have fled and the 
autumn’s red, 
‘The maid no more goes by; 


For my dream came true and the 
maid I wed, 
And now no more I sigh, I 
sigh, 
And now no more I sigh. 


DAY 


THE gray dawn on the mountain 
top 
Ts slow to pass away. 
Still lays him by in sluggish 
dreams, 


The golden God of day. 


And then a light along the hills, 
Your laughter silvery gay; 
The Sun God wakes, a bluebird 
trills, 
You come and it is day. 


TO DAN 


STEP me now a bridal measure, 
Work give way to love and leisure, 
Hearts be free and hearts be gay — 
Doctor Dan doth wed to-day. 


Diagnosis, cease your squalling — 

Check that scalpel’s senseless bawl- 
ing, 

Put that ugly knife away — 

Doctor Dan doth wed to-day. 


*Tis no time for things unsightly, 
Life’s the day and life goes lightly; 
Science lays aside her sway — 
Love rules Dr. Dan to-day. 


[248] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Gather, gentlemen and ladies, 

For the nuptial feast now made 
Is, 

Swing your garlands, chant your 
lay 

For the pair who wed to-day. 


Wish them happy days and many, 
Troubles few and griefs not any, 
Lift your brimming cups and say 
God bless them who wed to-day. 


Then a cup to Cupid daring, 
Who for conquest ever faring, 
With his arrows dares assail 
E’en a doctor’s coat of mail. 


So with blithe and happy hymning 

And with harmless goblets brim- 
ming, 

Dance a step — musicians play — 

Doctor Dan doth wed to-day. 


WHAT'S THE USE 


Wuat’s the use o’ folks a-frownin’ 

When the way’s a little rough? 

Frowns lay out the road fur smil- 
in’ 

You'll be wrinkled soon enough. 


What’s the use? 


What’s the use 0’ folks a-sighin’? 
It’s an awful waste o’ breath, 
An’ a body can’t stand wastin’ 
What he needs so bad in death. 
What’s the use? 


What’s the use 0’ even weepin’? 
Might as well go long an’ smile. 
Life, our longest, strongest arrow, 
Only lasts a little while. 
What’s the use? 


A LAZY DAY 
THE trees bend down along the 
stream, 
Where anchored swings my tiny 
boat. 
The day is one to drowse and 
dream 
And list the thrush’s throttling 
note. 


When music from his bosom bleeds 
Among the river’s rustling reeds. 


No ripple stirs the placid pool, 
When my adventurous line is 
cast, 
A truce to sport, while clear and 
cool, 
The mirrored clouds slide softly 
past. 
The sky gives back a blue divine, 
And all the world’s wide wealth 
is mine. 


A pickerel leaps, a bow of light, 

The minnows shine from side to 
side. 

The first faint breeze comes up 
the tide — 

I pause with half uplifted oar, 

While night drifts down to claim 
the shore. 


[249] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


ADVICE 


W’EN you full o’ worry 
*Bout yo’ wo’k an’ sich, 
'W’en you kind o’ bothered 
Case you can’t get rich, 
An’ yo’ neighboh p’ospah 
Past his jest desu’ts, 

An’ de sneer of comerds 
Stuhes yo’ heaht an’ hu'ts, 

Des don’ pet yo’ worries, 
Lay ’em on de she’f, 

Tek a little trouble 
Brothah, wid yo’se’f. 


Ef a frien’ comes mou’nin’ 
"Bout his awful case, 

You know you don’ grieve him 
Wid a gloomy face, 

But you wrassle wid him, 
Try to tek him in; 

Dough hit cracks yo’ features, 
Law, you smile lak sin, 

Ain’t you good ez he is? 
Don’ you pine to def; 

Tek a little trouble 
Brothah, wid yo’se’f. 


Ef de chillun pestahs, 
An’ de baby’s bad, 

Ef yo’ wife gits narvous, 
An’ you’re gettin’ mad, 
Des you grab yo’ boot-strops, 

Hol’ yo’ body down, 
Stop a-tinkin’ cuss-w’rds, 
Chase away de frown, 
Knock de haid o’ worry, 
Twell dey ain’ none lef’; 


Tek a little trouble, 
Brothah, wid yo’se’f. 


LIMITATIONS 


EF you’s only got de powah fe’ ta 
blow a little whistle, 

Keep ermong de people wid de 
whistles. 

Ef you don’t, you'll fin’ out sho’tly 
dat you’s th’owed yo’ fines’ 
feelin’ 

In a place dat’s all a bed o’ this- 
tles. 

*Tain’t no use a-goin’ now, ez 
sho’s you bo’n, 

A-squeakin’ of yo’ whistle ’g’inst 
a gread big ho’n. 


Ef you ain’t got but a teenchy bit 

o’ victuals on de table, 
‘Whut’ de use a-claimin’ hit’s a 
feas’? 

Fe’ de folks is mighty ’spicious, 
an’ dey’s ap’ to come a- 
peerin’, 

Lookin’ fe’ de scraps you lef’ 
at leas’. 

W’en de meal’s a-hidin’ fom de 
meal-bin’s top, 

You needn’t talk to hide it; ef you 
sta’ts, des stop. 


Ef yo’ min’ kin only carry half a 
pint o’ common idees, 
Don’ go roun’ a-sayin’ hit’s a 


bar’; 


[250] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


’Ca’se de people gwine to test you, 
an’ dey’ll fin’ out you’s 
a-lyin’, , 

Den dey’ll twis’ yo’ sayin’s in a 
snarl. 

Wuss t’ing in de country dat I 
evah hyahed — 

A crow dot sat a-squawkin’, “ I’s 
a mockin’-bird.” 


A GOLDEN DAY 


I FOUND you and I lost you, 
All on a gleaming day. 

The day was filled with sunshine, 
And the land was full of May. 


A golden bird was singing 
Its melody divine, 

I found you and I loved you, 
And all the world was mine. — 


I found you and I lost you, 
All on a golden day, 

But when I dream of you, dear, 
It is always brimming May. 


THE UNLUCKY APPLE 


"Twas the apple that in Eden 
Caused our father’s primal fall; 
And the Trojan War, remem- 
ber — 
”*T was an apple caused it all. 
So for weeks I’ve hesitated, 
You can guess the reason why, 
For I want to tell my darling 
She’s the apple of my eye. 


THE DISCOVERY 


THESE are the days of elfs and 
fays: 

Who says that with the dreams of 
myth, 

‘These imps and elves disport them- 
selves? 

Ah no, along the paths of song 

Do all the tiny folk belong. 


Round all our homes, 

Kobolds and gnomes do daily cling, 

Then nightly fling their lanterns 
out. . 

And shout on shout, they join the 
rout, 

And sing, and sing, within the 
sweet enchanted ring. 


Where gleamed the guile of moon- 
light’s smile, 

Once paused I, listening for a 
while, 

And heard the lay, unknown by 
day,— 

The fairies’ dancing roundelay. 


Queen Mab was there, her shim- 
mering hair 

Each fairy prince’s heart’s despair. 

She smiled to see their sparkling 
glee, 

And once I ween, she smiled at me. 


Since when, you may by night or 
day, 

Dispute the sway of elf-folk gay; 

But, hear me, stay! 


[251] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


I’ve learned the way to find Queen 
Mab and elf and fay. 


Where e’er by streams, the moon- 
light gleams, 

Or on a meadow softly beams, 

There, footing round on dew-lit 
ground, 


The fairy folk may all be found. 


MORNING 


Tue mist has left the greening 
plain, 


The dew-drops shine like fairy 


rain, 
The coquette rose awakes again 
Her lovely self adorning. 
The Wind is hiding in the trees, 


A sighing, soothing, laughing 
tease, 

Until the rose says “Kiss me, 
please,” 


"Tis morning, "tis morning. 


With staff in hand and careless- 
free, 
‘The wanderer fares right jauntily, 
For towns and houses are, thinks 
he, 
For scorning, for scorning. 
My soul is swift upon the wing, 
And in its deeps a song I bring; 
Come, Love, and we together sing, 
“*Tis morning, ’tis morning.” 


THE AWAKENING 


I piv not know that life could be 
sO sweet, 

I did not know the hours could 
speed so fleet, 

Till I knew you, and life was sweet 
again. 

The days grew brief with love 
and lack of pain — 


I was a slave a few short days 
ago, 

The powers of Kings and Princes 
now I know; 

I would not be again in bondage, 
save 

I had your smile, the liberty I 
crave. 


LOVE’S DRAFT 


Tue draft of love was cool and 
sweet 
You gave me in the cup, 
But, ah, love’s fire is keen and 
fleet, 
And I am burning up. 


Unless the tears I shed for you 
Shall quench this burning flame, 
It will consume me through and 
through, 
And leave but ash—a name. 


[252] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


A MUSICAL 


OurTSIDE the rain upon the street, 
The sky all grim of hue, 

Inside, the music-painful sweet, 
And yet I heard but you. 


As is a thrilling violin, 
So is your voice to me, 

And still above the other strains, 
It sang in ecstasy. 


TWELL DE NIGHT IS PAS’ 


ALL de night long twell de moon 
goes down, 
Lovin’ I set at huh feet, 
Den fu’ de long jou’ney back 
f'om de town, 
Ha’d, but de dreams mek it 
sweet. 


All de night long twell de break of 
de day, , 
Dreamin’ agin in my sleep, 
Mandy comes drivin’ my sorrers 
away, 
Axin’ me, 


weep?” 


Wha’ fu’ 


you 


All de day long twell de sun goes 
down, 
Smilin’, I ben’ to my hoe, 
Fu’ dough de weddah git nasty an’ 
frown, 
One place I know I kin go. 


All my life long twell de night has 
pas’ 
Let de wo’k come ez it will, 
So dat I fin’ you, my honey, at las’, 
Somewhaih des ovah de hill. 


BLUE 


STANDIN’ at de winder, 
Feelin’ kind o’ glum, 
Listenin’ to de raindrops 
Play de kettle drum, 
Lookin’ crost de medders 
Swimmin’ lak a sea; 
Lawd ’a’ mussy on us, 
What’s de good o’ me? 


Can’t go out a-hoein’, 
Wouldn’t ef I could; 

Groun’ too wet fu’ huntin’, 
Fishin’ ain’t no good. 

Too much noise fo’ sleepin’, 
No one hyeah to chat; 

Des mus’ stan’ an’ listen 
To dat pit-a-pat. 


Hills is gittin’ misty, 
Valley’s gittin’ dahk; 
Watch-dog’s ’mence a-howlin’, 
Rathah have ’em ba’k 
Dan a-moanin’ solemn 
Somewhaih out o’ sight; 
Rain-crow des a-chucklin’— 
Dis is his delight. 


Mandy, bring my banjo, 
Bring de chillen in, 


[253] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Come in f’om de kitchen, 
I feel sick ez sin. 
Call in Uncle Isaac, 
Call Aunt Hannah, too, 
‘Tain’t no use in talkin’, 


Chile, I’s sholy blue. 


DREAMIN’ ‘TOWN 


CoME away to dreamin’ town, 
Mandy Lou, Mandy Lou, 
Whaih de skies don’ nevah frown, 
Mandy Lou; 
Whaih he streets is paved with 
gol’, } 
Whaih de days is nevah col’, 
An’ no sheep strays f’om de fol’, 
Mandy Lou. 


Ain’t you tiahed of every day, 
Mandy Lou, Mandy Lou, 
Tek my han’ an’ come away, 
Mandy Lou, 
To the place whaih dreams is 
King, | 
Whaih my heart hol’s everything, 
An’ my soul can allus sing, 


Mandy Lou. 


Come away to dream wid me, 
Mandy Lou, Mandy Lou, 
Whaih our hands an’ hea’ts are 
free, 
Mandy Lou; 
Whaih de sands is shinin’ white, 
Whaih de rivahs glistens bright, 
Mandy Lou. 


Come away to dreamland town, 
Mandy Lou, Mandy Lou, 

Whaih de fruit is bendin’ down, 
Des fu’ you. 

Smooth your brow of lovin’ brown, 

An’ my love will be its crown; 

Come away to dreamin’ town, 

Mandy Lou. 


AT NIGHT 


WHuwtT time ’d dat clock strike? 
Nine? No— eight; 
I didn’t think hit was so late. 
Aer chew! I must ’a’ got a cough, 
I raally b’lieve I did doze off — 
Hit’s mighty soothin’ to de tiah, 
A-dozin’ dis way by de fiah; 
Oo oom—hit feels so good to 
stretch 
I sutny is one weary wretch! 


Look hyeah, dat boy done gone to 


sleep ! 
He des ain’t wo’th his boa’d an’ 
keep; 
I des don’t b’lieve he’d bat his 
eyes 
If Gab’el called him: fo’m de 
skies! 
But sleepin’s good dey ain’t no 
doubt — 
Dis pipe 0’ mine is done gone 
out. 


Don’t bu’n a minute, bless my soul, 
Des please to han’ me dat ah 
coal. 


[254] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


You ’Lias git up now, my son, 
Seems lak my nap is des begun; 
You sutny mus’ ma’k down de day 


W’en I treats comp’ny dis away! 


W’y, Brother Jones, dat drowse 


come on, 

An’ laws! I dremp dat you was 
gone! 

You “Lias, whaih yo’ mannahs, 
suh, 

To hyeah me call an’ nevah 
stuh! 


To-morrer mo’nin’ w’en I call 
Dat boy’ll be sleepin’ to beat all, 
Don’t mek no diffunce how I roah, 
He'll des lay up an’ sno’ and 
sno’. 
Now boy, you done hyeahed whut 
I said, 
You bettah tek yo’se’f yo baid, 
Case ef you gits me good an’ 
wrong 
I'll mek dat sno’ a diffunt song. 


Dis wood fiah is invitin’ dho’, 
Hit seems to wa’m de ve’y flo — 
An’ nuffin’ ain’t a whit ez sweet, 
Ez settin’ toastin’ of yo’ feet. 
Hit mek you drowsy, too, but La! 
Hyeah, Lias, don’t you hyeah 
yo ma? 
Ef I gits sta’ted f’om dis cheah 
I’ lay, you scamp, I’ll mek you 
heah! 


To-morrer mo’nin’ I kin bawl 
Twell all de neighbohs hyeah 
me call; 


An’ you'll be snoozin’ des ez deep 
Ez if de day was made fu’ sleep; 
Hit’s funny when you got a cough 
Somehow yo’ voice seems too fu’ 
off — 
Can’t wake dat boy fu’ all I say, 
I reckon he'll sleep daih twell 
day! 


KIDNAPED 


I HELD my heart so far from harm, 
I let it wander far and free 
In mead and mart, without alarm, 
Assured it must come back to 

me. 


And all went well till on a day, 
Learned Dr. Cupid wandered 
by 
A search along our sylvan way 
For some peculiar butterfly. 


A flash of wings, a hurried dive, 
A flutter and a short-lived flit; 
This Scientist, as I am alive 
Had seen my heart and captured 
It. 


Right tightly now ’tis held among 


The specimens that he has 
trapped, 

And sings (Oh, love is ever 
young), 

*Tis passing sweet to be kid- 
naped. 


[255] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


COMPENSATION 


Because I had loved so deeply, 
Because I had loved so long, 

God in His great compassion 
Gave me the gift of song. 


Because I have loved so vainly, 
And sung with such faltering 
breath, 
The Master in infinite mercy 


Offers the boon of Death. 


WINTER’S APPROACH 


De sun hit shine an’ de win’ hit 
blow, 
Ol Brer Rabbit be a-layin’ low, 
He know dat de wintah time 
a-comin’, 
De huntah man he walk an’ wait, 
He walk right by Brer Rabbit’s 
gate — 
He know — 


De dog he lick his sliverin’ chop, 

An’ he tongue ’gin’ his mouf go 
flop, flop — 

He — 

He rub his nose fu’ to clah his 
scent 

So’s to tell w’ich way dat cotton- 
tail went, 


He— 


De huntah’s wife she set an’ spin 
A good wahm coat fu’ to wrop him 
in 


She — 


She look at de skillet an’ she smile, 
oh my! 

Brer Rabbit got to sholy 
fly. 

Dey know. 


An’ ol’ 


ANCHORED 


Ir thro’ the sea of night which 
here surrounds me, 
I could swim out beyond the 
farthest star, 
Break every barrier of circumstance 
that bounds me, 
And greet the Sun of sweeter 
life afar, 


Tho’ near you there is passion, 
grief, and sorrow, 
And out there rest and joy and 
peace and all, 
I should renounce that beckoning 
for to-morrow, 
I could not choose to go beyond 
your call. 


THE VETERAN 


UNDERNEATH the autumn sky, 
Haltingly, the lines go by. 

Ah, would steps were blithe and 

gay, 

As when first they marched away, 
Smile on lip and curl on brow,— 
Only white-faced gray-beards now, 
Standing on life’s outer verge, 
E’en the marches sound a dirge. 


[256] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Blow, you bugles, play, you fife, 
Rattle, drums, for dearest life. 
Let the flags wave freely so, 

As the marching legions go, 
Shout, hurrah and laugh and jest, 
This is memory at its best. 
(Did you notice at your quip, 
That old comrade’s quivering lip?) 


Ah, I see them as they come, 

Stumbling with the rumbling 
drum; 

But a sight more sad to me 

E’en than these ranks could be 

Was that one with cane upraised 

Who stood by and gazed and 
gazed, 

Trembling, 
pressed, 

Longing to be with the rest. 


solemn, lips com- 


Did he dream of old alarms, 
As he stood, ‘“ presented arms” ? 
Did he think of field and camp 
And the unremitting tramp 
Mile on mile —the lonely guard 
When he kept his midnight ward? 
Did he dream of wounds and scars 
In that bitter war of wars? 


What of that? 
stands 

In my memory — trembling hands, 

Whitened beard and cane and all 

As if waiting for the call 

Once again: “ To arms, my sons,” 


He stood and 


And his ears hear far-off guns, 
Roll of cannon and the tread 
Of the legions of the Dead! 


YESTERDAY AND TO- 
MORROW 


YESTERDAY I held your hand, 
Reverently I pressed it, 
And its gentle yieldingness 
From my soul I blessed it. 


But to-day I sit alone, 

Sad and sore repining; 

Must our gold forever know 
Flames for the refining? 


Yesterday I walked with you, 
Could a day be sweeter? 
Life was all a lyric song 

Set to tricksy meter. 


Ah, to-day is like a dirge,— 
Place my arms around you, 
Let me feel the same dear joy 
As when first I found you. 


Let me once retrace my steps, 
From these roads unpleasant, 

Let my heart and mind and soul 
All ignore the present. 


Yesterday the iron seared 

And to-day means sorrow. 
Pause, my soul, arise, arise, 
Look where gleams the morrow. 


[257] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


THE CHANGE 


LovE used to carry a bow, you 
know, 
But now he carries a taper; 
It is either a length of wax aglow, 
Or a twist of lighted paper. 


I pondered a little about the scamp, 
And then I decided to follow 
His wandering journey to field and 

camp, 


Up hill, down dale or hollow. 


I dogged the rollicking, gay, young 
blade 
In every species of weather; 
Till, leading me straight to the 
home of a maid 
He left us there together. 


And then I saw it, oh, sweet sur- 
prise, 
The taper it set a-burning 
The love-light brimming my lady’s 
eyes, 
And my heart with the fire of 
yearning. 


THE CHASE 


THE wind told the little leaves to 
hurry, 
And chased them down the way, 
While the mother tree laughed 
loud in glee, 
For she thought her babes at 
play. 


The cruel wind and the rain 
laughed loudly, 
We'll bury them deep, they said, 
And the old tree grieves, and the 
little leaves 


Lie low, all chilled and dead. 


SUPPOSE 


Ir ’twere fair to suppose 
That your heart were not taken, 
That the dew from the rose 
Petals still were not shaken, 
I should pluck you, 
Howe’er you should thorn me 
and scorn me, 
And wear you for life as the green 
of the bower. 


If ’twere fair to suppose 
That that road was for va- 
grants, 
‘That the wind and the rose, 
Counted all in their fragrance; 
Oh, my dear one, 
By love, I should take you and 
make you, 
The green of my life from the 
scintillant hour. 


THE DEATH OF THE 
FIRST BORN 


Cover him over with daisies white 
And eke with the poppies red, 
Sit with me here by his couch to- 

night, 


[258] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


For the First-Born, Love, is 
dead. 


Poor little fellow, he seemed so 
fair 
As he lay in my jealous arms; 
Silent and cold he is lying there 
Stripped of his darling charms. 


Lusty and strong he had grown 
forsooth, 
Sweet with an infinite grace, 
Proud in the force of his conquer- 
ing youth, 
Laughter alight in his face. 


Oh, but the blast, it was cruel and 
keen, 
And ah, but the chill it was rare; 
The look of the winter-kissed 
flow’r you’ve seen 
When meadows and fields were 
bare. 


Can you not wake from this white, 
cold sleep 
And speak to me once again? 
True that your slumber is deep, 
so deep, 
But deeper by far is my pain. 


Cover him over with daisies white, 
And eke with the poppies red, 
Sit with me here by his couch to- 

night, 
For the First-Born, Love, is 
dead. 


BEIN’ BACK HOME 


HoME agin, an’ home to stay — 

Yes, it’s nice to be away. 

Plenty things to do an’ see, 

But the old place seems to me 

Jest about the proper thing. 

Mebbe ’ts ’cause the mem’ries 
cling 

Closer ’round yore place o’ birth 

"N ary other spot on earth. 


W’y it’s nice jest settin’ here, 

Lookin’ out an’ seein’ clear, 

*Thout no smoke, ner dust, ner 
haze 

In these sweet October days. 

What’s as good as that there lane, 

Kind o’ browned from last night’s 
rain? 

*Pears like home has got the start 

When the goal’s a feller’s heart. 


What’s as good as that there jay 


Screechin’ up’ards towards the 
gray 
Skies? An’ tell me, what’s as fine 


As that full-leafed pumpkin vine? 

Tow’rin’ buildin’s — yes, they’re 
good; 

But in sight o’ field and wood, 

Then a feller understan’s 

"Bout the house not made with 
han’s. 


Let the others rant an’ roam — 
When they git away from home; 
Jest gi’ me my old settee 


[259] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


An’ my pipe beneath a tree; 
Sight o’ medders green an’ still, 
Now and then a gentle hill, 
Apple orchards, full o’ fruit, 
Nigh a cider press to boot — 


That’s the thing jest done up 
brown; 

D’want to be too nigh to town; 
Want to have the smells an’ sights, 
An’ the dreams o’ long still nights, 
With the friends you used to know 
In the keerless long ago — 
Same old cronies, same old folks, 
Same old cider, same old jokes. 


Say, it’s nice a-gittin’ back, 

When yore pulse is growin’ slack, 

An’ yore breath begins to wheeze 

Like a fair-set valley breeze; 

Kind 0’ nice to set aroun’ 

On the old familiar groun’, 

- Knowin’ that when Death does 
come, 

That he’ll find you right at home. 


THE OLD CABIN 


In de dead of night I sometimes, 
Git to t’inkin’ of de pas’ 

An’ de days w’en slavery helt me 
In my mis’ry —ha’d an’ fas’. 

Dough de time was mighty tryin’, 
In dese houahs somehow hit 

seem 

Dat a brightah light come slippin’ 

Thoo de kivahs of my dream. 


An’ my min’ fu’gits de whuppins 
Draps de feah o’ block an’ lash 
An’ flies straight to somep’n’ joy- 

ful 
In a secon’s lightnin’ flash. 
Den hit seems I see a vision 
Of a dearah long ago 
Of de childern tumblin’ roun’ me 
By my rough ol’ cabin do’. 


Talk about yo’ go’geous mansions 
An’ yo’ big house great an’ 
gran’, 

Des bring up de fines’ palace 
Dat you know in all de lan’. 
But dey’s somep’n’ dearah to me, 
Somep’n’ faihah to my eyes 
In dat cabin, less you bring me 
To yo’ mansion in de skies. 


T kin see de light a-shinin’ 
Thoo de chinks atween de logs, 
I kin hyeah de way-off bayin’ 
Of my mastah’s huntin’ dogs, 
An’ de neighin’ of de hosses 
Stampin’ on de ol’ bahn flo’, 
But above dese soun’s de laughin’ 
At my deah ol’ cabin do’. 


We would gethah daih at evenin’, 
All my frien’s ’ud come erroun’ 
An’ hit wan’t no time, twell, bless 
you, 
You could hyeah de banjo’s 
soun’. 
You could see de dahkies dancin’ 
Pigeon wing an’ heel an’ toe — 


[260] 


PAUL LIAURENCE DUNBAR 


Joyous times I tell you people 
Roun’ dat same ol’ cabin do’. 


But at times my t’oughts gits sad- 
dah, 
Ez I riccolec’ de folks, 
An’ dey frolickin’ an’ talkin’ 
Wid dey laughin’ an dey jokes. 
An’ hit hu’ts me w’en I membahs 
Dat I ’Il nevah see no mo’ 
Dem ah faces gethered smilin’ 
Roun’ dat po’ ol’ cabin do’. 


DESPAIR 


_ Let me close the eyes of my soul 
That I may not see 
What stands between thee and me. 


Let me shut the ears of my heart 
That I may not hear 
A voice that drowns yours, my 
dear. 


Let me cut the cords of my life, 
Of my desolate being, 
Since cursed is my hearing and see- 
ing. 


CIRCUMSTANCES ALTER 
CASES 


Tim Murphy’s gon’ walkin’ wid 
Maggie O’Neill, 
O chone! 
If I was her muther, I’d frown 
on sich foolin’, 


O chone! 


I’m sure it’s unmutherlike, darin’ 
an’ wrong 
To let a gyrul hear tell the sass an’ 
; the song 
Of every young felly that happens 
along, 
O chone! 


An’ Murphy, the things that’s 
be’n sed of his doin’, 
O chone! 
*Tis a cud: that no dacent folks 
wants to be chewin’, 
O chone! 
If he came to my door wid his 
cane on a twirl, 
Fur to thry to make love to you, 
Biddy, my girl, 
Ah, wouldn’t I send him away 
wid a whirl, 


O chone! 


They say the gossoon is indecent 
and dirty, 
O chone! 
In spite of his dressin’ so. 
O chone! 
Let him dress up ez foine ez a 
king or a queen, 
Let him put on more wrinkles 
than ever was seen, 
You'll be sure he’s no match for 
my little colleen, 
O chone! 


Faith the two is comin’ back an’ 
their walk is all over, 


O chone! 


[261] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


“T'was a pretty short walk fur to 

take wid a lover, 
O chone! 

Why, I believe that Tim Mur- 
phy’s a kumin’ this way, 

Ah, Biddy jest look at him steppin’ 
so gay; 

I’d niver belave what the gos- 
sipers say, 


O chone! 


He’s turned in the gate an’ he’s 
coming a-caperin’, 
O chone! 
Go, Biddy, go quick an’ put on a 
clane apern, 
O chone! 
Be quick as ye kin fur he’s right at 
the dure; 
Come in, master Tim, fur ye’re 
welcome I’m shure. 
We were talkin’ o’ ye jest a minute 
before. 


O chone! 


TILL THE WIND GETS 
RIGHT 


Ou the breeze is blowin’ balmy 
An the sun is in a haze; 

There’s a cloud jest givin’ coolness 
To the laziest of days. 

There are crowds upon the lake- 

side, 

But the fish refuse to bite, 

So I'll wait and go a-fishin’ 
iWhen the wind gets right. 


Now my boat tugs at her anchor, 
Eager now to kiss the spray, 
While the little waves are callin’ 
Drowsy sailor come away, 
There’s a harbor for the happy, 

And its sheen is just in sight, 
But I won’t set sail to get there, 
Till the wind gets right. 


That’s my trouble, too, I reckon, 
I’ve been waitin’ all too long, 
Tho’ the days were always 
Still the wind is always wrong. 
An’ when Gabriel blows his trum- 
pet, 
In the day o’ in the night, 
I will still be found waitin’, 
Till the wind gets right. 


A SUMMER NIGHT 


SUMMAH is de lovin’ time — 
Do’ keer what you say. 

Night is allus peart an’ prime, 
Bettah dan de day. 

Do de day is sweet an’ good, 
Birds a-singin’ fine, 

Pines a-smellin’ in de wood,— 
But de night is mine. 


99 


Rivah whisperin’ “ howdy do, 
Ez it pass you by — 

Moon a-lookin’ down at you, 
Winkin’ on de sly. 

Frogs a-croakin’ f’om de pon’, 
Singin’ bass dey fill, 

An’ you listen way beyon’ 
Ol man whippo’will. 


[262] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Hush up, honey, tek my han’, 
Mek yo’ footsteps light; 
Somep’n’ kin’ o’ hol’s de lan’ 

On a summah night. 
Somep’n’ dat you nevah sees 
An’ you nevah hyeahs, 
But you feels it in de breeze, 
Somep’n’ nigh to teahs. 


Somep’n’ nigh to teahs? dat’s so; 
But hit’s nigh to smiles. 

An’ you feels it ez you go 
Down de shinin’ miles. 

Tek my han’, my little dove; 
Hush an’ come erway — 

Summah is de time fu’ love, 
Night-time beats de day! 


AT SUNSET TIME 


Apown the west a golden glow 
Sinks burning in the sea, 
And all the dreams of long ago 
Come flooding back to me. 
The past has writ a story strange 
Upon my aching heart, 
But time has wrought a subtle 
change, 
My wounds have ceased to 
smart. 


No more the quick delight of 
youth, 
No more the sudden pain, 


What, was it I who bared my 
heart 
Through unrelenting years, 


And knew the sting of misery’s 


dart, 
The tang of sorrow’s tears? 


Tis better now, I do not weep, 
I do not laugh nor care; 

My soul and spirit half asleep 
Drift aimless everywhere. 

We float upon a sluggish stream, 
We ride no rapids mad, 

While life is all a tempered dream 
And every joy half sad. 


NIGHT 


SILENCE, and whirling worlds afar 
Through all encircling skies. 
What floods come o’er the spirit’s 

bar, 
What wondrous thoughts arise. 


The earth, a mantle falls away, 
And, winged, we leave the sod; 
Where shines in its eternal sway 


The majesty of God. 


AT LOAFING-HOLT 


SincE I left the city’s heat 
For this sylvan, cool retreat, 


High upon the hill-side here 


I look no more for trust or truth Where the air is clean and clear, 


Where greed may compass gain. 


I have lost the urban ways. 


[263] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Mine are calm and tranquil days, 
Sloping lawns of green are mine, 
Clustered treasures of the vine; 
Long forgotten plants I know, 
Where the best wild berries grow, 
Where the greens and _ grasses 
sprout, 
When the elders blossom out. 
Now I am grown weather-wise 
With the lore of winds and skies. 
Mine the song whose soft refrain 
Is the sigh of summer rain. 
Seek you where the woods are cool, 
Would you know the shady pool 
Where, throughout the lazy day, 
Speckled beauties drowse or play? 
Would you find in rest or peace 
Sorrow’s permanent release? — 
Leave the city, grim and gray, 
Come with me, ah, come away. 
Do you fear the winter chill, 
Deeps of snow upon the hill? 
*Tis a mantle, kind and warm, 
Shielding tender shoots from harm. 
Do you dread the _ ice-clad 
streams,— 
‘They are mirrors for your dreams. 
Here’s a rouse, when summer’s 
past 
To the raging winter’s blast. 
Let him roar and let him rout, 
We are armored for the bout. 
How the logs are glowing, see! 
Who sings louder, they or he? 
Could the city be more gay? 
Burn your bridges! Come away! 


WHEN A FELLER’S ITCHIN’ 
TO BE SPANKED 


W’en us fellers stomp. around, 
makin’ lots o’ noise, 
Gramma says, ‘‘ There’s certain 

times come to little boys 
W’en they need a shingle or the 
soft side of a plank; ” 
She says ‘‘we’re a-itchin’ for a 
right good spank.” 
An’ she says, “ Now thes you 
wait, 
It’s a-comin’— soon or late, 
W’en a feller’s itchin’ fer a spank.” 


W’en a feller’s out o’ school, you 
know how he feels, 
Gramma says we wriggle ’roun’ 

like a lot o’ eels. 
W’y it’s like a man that’s thes 
home from out o’ jail. 
What’s the use o’ scoldin’ if we 
pull Tray’s tail? 
Gramma says, tho’, “ Thes you 
wait, 
It’s a-comin’— soon or late, 
You’se the boys that’s itchin’ to 
be spanked.” 


Cats is funny creatures an’ I like 
to make ’em yowl, 
Gramma alwus looks at me with 

a awful scowl 
An’ she says, “ Young gentlemen, 
mamma should be thanked 
Ef you’d get your knickerbockers 
right well spanked.” 


[264] 





An’ she says, ‘‘ Now thes you 
wait, 
It’s a-comin’— soon or late,” 
W’en a feller’s itchin’ to be 
spanked. 


Ef you fin’ the days is gettin’ 
awful hot in school 
An’ you know a swimmin’ place 
where it’s nice and cool, 
Er you know a cat-fish hole brim- 
min’ full o’ fish, 
Whose a-goin’ to set around school 
and wish? 
*Tain’t no use to hide your bait, 
It’s a-comin,— soon or late, 
W’en a feller’s itchin’ to be 
spanked. 


Ol folks know most ever’thing 
*bout the world, I guess, 
Gramma does, we wish she knowed 
thes a little less, 
But I alwus kind o’ think it ’ud be 
as well 
Ef they wouldn’t alwus have to 
up an’ tell; 
We kids wish ’at they’d thes 
wait, 
It’s a-comin’— soon or late, 
W’en a feller’s itchin’ to be 
spanked. 


THE RIVER OF RUIN 


ALONG by the river of ruin 
They dally — the thoughtless ones, 
They dance and they dream 


‘ PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


By the side of the stream, 

As long as the river runs. 

It seems all so pleasant and 
cheery — 

No thought of the morrow is 
theirs, 

And their faces are bright 

With the sun of delight, 

And they dream of no night- 
brooding cares. 

The women garlanded 
tresses, 

The men have rings on their 
hands, 

And they sing in their glee, 

For they think they are free — 

They that know not the treacher- 
ous sands. . 


wear 


Ah, but this be a venturesome jour- 
ney, 

Forever those sands are ashift, 

And a step to one side 

Means a grasp of the tide, 

And the current is fearful and 
swift. 


For once in the river of ruin, 
What boots it, to do or to dare, 
For down we must go 

In the turbulent flow, 

To the desolate sea of Despair. 


[265] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


TO HER 


Your presence like a benison to 
me 
Wakes my sick soul to dreamful 
ecstasy, 


I fancy that some old Arabian 


night 
Saw you my houri and my heart’s 


delight. 


And wandering forth beneath the 
passionate moon, 
Your love-strung zither and my 
soul in tune, 
We knew the joy, the haunting of 
the pain 
That like a flame _ thrills 


through me now again. 


To-night we sit where sweet the 
spice winds blow, 
A wind the northland lacks and 
ne’er shall know, 
With clasped hands and spirits all 
aglow 
As in Arabia in the long ago. 


A LOVE LETTER 


Ou, I des received a letter f’om de 
sweetest little gal; 
Oh, my; oh, my. 
She’s my lovely little sweetheart 
an’ her name is Sal: 
Oh, my; oh, my. 


She writes me dat she loves me an’ 
she loves me true, 
She wonders ef I’ll tell huh dat 
I loves huh, too; 
An’ my heaht’s so full o’ music dat 
I do’ know what to do; 
Oh, my; oh, my. 


I got a man to read it an’ he read 
it fine; 
Oh, my; oh, my. 
Dey ain’ no use denying dat her 
love is mine; 
Oh, my; oh, my. 
But hyeah’s de t’ing dat’s puttin’ 
me in such a awful plight, 
I tink of huh at mornin’ an’ I 
dream of huh at night; 
But how’s I gwine to cou’t huh 
wen I do’ know how to 
write? 
Oh, my; oh, my. 


My heaht is bubblin’ ovah wid de 
t'ings I want to say; 
Oh, my; oh, my. 
An’ dey’s lots of folks to copy 
what I tell ’em fu’ de pay; 
Oh, my; oh, my. 
But dey’s t’ings dat I’s a-t’inkin’ 
dat is only fu’ huh ears, 
An’ I couldn’t lu’n to write ’em ef 
I took a dozen years; 
So to go down daih an’ tell huh 
is de only way, it ’pears; 
Oh, my; oh, my. 


[266] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


AFTER MANY DAYS 


I’ve always been a faithful man 
An’ tried to live for duty, 

But the stringent mode of life 
Has somewhat lost its beauty. 


The story of the generous bread 
He sent upon the waters, 

Which after many days returns 
To trusting sons and daughters, 


Had oft impressed me, so I want 
My soul influenced by it, 
And bought a loaf of bread and 
sought 
A stream where I could try it. 


I cast my bread upon the waves 
And fancied then to await it; 

It had not floated far away 
When a fish came up and ate it. 


And if I want both fish and bread, 
And surely both I’m wanting, 
About the only way I see 
Is for me to go fishing. 


LIZA MAY 


Little brown face full of smiles, 
And a baby’s guileless wiles, 
Liza May, Liza May. 


Eyes a-peeping thro’ the fence 
With an interest intense, 


Liza May. 


Ah, the gate is just ajar, 
And the meadow is not far, 
Liza May, Liza May. 


And the road feels very sweet, 
To your little toddling feet, 
Liza May. 


Ah, you roguish runaway, 
What will toiling mother say, 
Liza May, Liza May? 


What care you who smile to greet 
Everyone you chance to meet, 


Liza May? 


Soft the mill-race sings its song, 
Just a little way along, 
Liza May, Liza May. 


But the song is full of guile, 
Turn, ah turn, your steps the 
while, 


Liza May. 


You have caught the gleam and 
glow 
Where the darkling waters flow, 
Liza May, Liza May. 


Flash of ripple, bend of bough, 
Where are all the angels now? 
Liza May. 


Now a mother’s eyes intense 
Gazing o’er a shabby fence, 
Liza May, Liza May. 


[267] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Then a mother’s anguished face 
Peering all around the place, 


Liza May. 


Hear the agonizing call 
For a mother’s all in all, 


Liza May, Liza May. 


Hear a mother’s maddened prayer 
To the calm unanswering air, 


Liza May. 


What’s become of — Liza May? 
What has darkened all the day? 
Liza May, Liza May. 


Ask the waters dark and fleet, 
If they know the smiling, sweet 
Liza May. 


Call her, call her as you will, 
On the meadow, on the hill, 
Liza May, Liza May. 


‘Through the brush or beaten track 
Echo only gives you back, 
Liza May. 


Ah, but you were loving — sweet, 
On your little toddling feet, 
Liza May, Liza May. 


But through all the coming years, 
Must a mother breathe with tears, 
Liza May. 


THE MASTERS 


Ou, who is the Lord of the land of 
life, 
When hotly goes the fray? 
‘When, fierce we smile in the midst 
of strife 
Then whom shall we obey? 


Oh, Love is the Lord of the land 
of life 
Who holds a monarch’s sway; 
He wends with wish of maid and 
wife, . 
And him you must obey. 


Then who is the Lord of the land 
of life, 
At setting of the sun? 
Whose word shall sway when 
Peace is rife 
And all the fray is done? 


Then Death is the Lord of the 
land of life, 
When your hot race is run. 
Meet then his scythe and pruning- 
knife 
When the fray is lost or won. 


TROUBLE IN DE KITCHEN 


Dry was oncet a awful quoil 
*twixt de skillet an’ de pot; 

De pot was des a-bilin’ an’ de skil- 
let sho’ was hot. 

Dey slurred each othah’s colah an’ 
dey called each othah names, 


[268 ] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Wile de coal-oil can des gu-gled, 
po'in oil erpon de flames. 


De pot, hit called de skillet des a 


flat, disfiggered t’ing, 
An’ de skillet ’plied dat all de pot 
could do was set an’ sing, 
An’ he lowed dat dey was ’lusions 
dat he wouldn’t stoop to mek 
’Case he reckernize his juty, an’ he 
had too much at steak. 


Well, at dis de pot biled ovah, case 
his tempah gittin’ highah, 
An’ de skillet got to sputterin’, 
den de fat was in de fiah. 
Mistah fiah lay daih smokin’ an’ 

a-t’inkin’ to hisse’f, 
Wile de peppah-box us nudgin’ of 
de gingah on de she’f. 


Den dey all des lef’ hit to ’im, 
*bout de trouble an’ de talk; 

An’ howevah he decided, w’y dey 
bofe ’u’d walk de chalk; 

But de fiah uz so ’sgusted how dey 
quoil an’ dey shout 

Dat he cooled ’em off, I reckon, 
wen he puffed an’ des went 
out. 


CHRISTMAS 


STEP wid de banjo an’ glide wid 
de fiddle, 
Dis ain’ no time fu’ to pottah 
an’ piddle; 


Fu’ Christmas is comin’, it’s right 
on de way, 
An’ dey’s houahs to dance ’fo’ 
de break o’ de day. 


What if de win’ is taihin’ an’ 
whistlin’ ? 
Look at dat fiah how hit’s 
spittin’ an’ bristlin’! 
Heat in de ashes an’ heat in de 
cindahs, 
Ol’ mistah Fros’ kin des look 
thoo de windahs. 


Heat up de toddy an’ pas’ de wa’m 
glasses, 
Don’ stop to shivah at blowin’s 
an’ blas’es, 
Keep on de kittle an’ keep it a- 
hummin’, 
Fat all an’ drink all, dey’s lots 
mo’ a-comin’, 
Look hyeah, Maria, don’t open 
dat oven, 
Want all dese people a-pushin’ 
an’ shovin’? 


Res’ fom de dance? Yes, you 
done cotch dat odah, 
Mammy done cotch it, an’ law! 
hit nigh flo’d huh; 
"Possum is monst’ous fu’ mekin’ 
folks fin’ it! 
Come, draw yo’ cheers up, I’s 
sho’ I do’ min’ it. 
Eat up dem critters, you men folks 
an’ wimmens, 
"Possums ain’ skace w’en dey’s 
lots o’ pu’simmons. 


[269] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


ROSES AND PEARLS 


Your spoken words are roses fine 
and sweet, 

The songs you sing are perfect 
pearls of sound. 

‘How lavish nature is about your 
feet, 

To scatter flowers and jewels both 
around. 


Blushing the stream of petal beauty 
flows, 

Softly the white strings trickle 
down and shine. 

Oh! speak to me, my love, I crave 
a rose. 

Sing me a song, for I would pearls 
Were mine. 


RAIN-SONGS 


THE rain streams down like harp- 
strings from the sky; 
wind, that world-old 
harpist sitteth by; 
And ever as he sings his low re- 
frain, 
He plays upon the harp-strings 
of the rain. 


‘The 


A LOST DREAM 


Au, I have changed, I do not 
know 
Why lonely hours affect me so. 


In days of yore, this were not wont, 
No loneliness my soul could daunt. 


For me too serious for my age, 

‘The weighty tome of hoary sage, 

Until with puzzled heart astir, 

One God-giv’n night, I dreamed 
of her. | 


I loved no woman, hardly knew 

More of the sex that strong men 
woo 

Than cloistered monk within his 
cell; 

But now the dream is lost, and hell 


Holds me her captive tight and 


fast 

Who prays and struggles for the 
past. 

No living maid has charmed my 
eyes, 


But now, my soul is wonder-wise. 


For I have dreamed of her ange 


seen 

Her red-brown tresses’ ruddy 
sheen, 

Have known her sweetness, lip to 
lip, 


The joy of her companionship. 


When days were bleak and winds 
were rude, 

She shared my smiling solitude, 

And all the bare hills walked with 
me 

To hearken winter’s melody. 


[270] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


And when the spring came o’er the 
land 

We fared together hand in hand 

Beneath the linden’s leafy screen 

That waved above us faintly 
green. 


In summer, by the river-side, 

Our souls were kindred with the 
tide 

‘That floated onward to the sea 

As we swept toward Eternity. 


The bird’s call and the water’s 


drone 

_ Were all for us and us alone. 
The water-fall that sang all night 
Was her companion, my delight, 


And e’en the squirrel, as he sped 
Along the branches overhead, 
Half kindly and half envious, 
Would chatter at the joy of us. 


*Twas but a dream, her face, her 
hair, 

The spring-time sweet, the winter 
bare, 

The summer when the woods we 
ranged,— 

"Twas but a dream, but all is 
changed. 


Yes, all is changed and all has 
fled, 

The dream is broken, shattered, 
dead. 

And yet, sometimes, I pray to know 

How just a dream could hold me 
so. 


A SONG 


THovu art the soul of a summer’s 
day, 
Thou art the breath of the rose. 
But the summer is fled 
And the rose is dead 
Where are they gone, who knows, 
who knows? 


Thou art the blood of my heart 0’ 
hearts, 
Thou art my soul’s repose, 
But my heart grows numb 
And my soul is dumb 
Where art thou, love, who knows, 
who knows? 


Thou art the hope of my after 
years — 
Sun for my winter snows 
But the years go by 
"Neath a clouded sky. 
Where shall we meet, who knows, 
who knows? 


[271] 


oY 








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THE CAPTURE 


Duck come switchin’ ’cross de lot 
Hi, oh, Miss Lady! 

- Hurry up an’ hide de pot 

Hi, oh, Miss Lady! 

- Duck’s a mighty ’spicious fowl, 

Slick as snake an’ wise as owl; 

Hol’ dat dog, don’t let him yowl! 
Hi, oh, Miss Lady! 


Th’ow dat co’n out kind o’ slow 
Hi, oh, Miss Lady! 
Keep yo’se’f behin’ de do’ 
Hi, oh, Miss Lady! 
Lots o’ food’ll kill his feah, 
Co’n is cheap but fowls is deah — 
“Come, good ducky, come on 
heah.” 
Hi, oh, Miss Lady! 


Ain’t he fat and ain’t he fine, 
Hi, oh, Miss Lady! 
Des can’t wait to make 
mine. 
Hi, oh, Miss Lady! 
See him waddle when he walk, 
*Sh! keep still and don’t you talk! 
Got you! Don’t you daih to 
squawk! 


Hi, oh, Miss Lady! 


him 


WHEN WINTER DARKEN- 
ING ALL AROUND 


WHEN winter covering all the 
ground 
Hides every sign of Spring, sir. 
However you may look around, 
Pray what will then you sing, 
sir? 


The Spring was here last year I 
know, 
And many bards did flute, sir; 
I shall not fear a little snow 
Forbid me from my lute, sir. 


If words grow dull and rhymes 
grow rare, 
I’ll sing of Spring’s farewell, sir. 
For every season steals an air, 
Which has a Springtime smell, 
sir. 


But if upon the other side, 
With passionate longing burn- 
ing, 
Will seek the half unjeweled tide, 
And sing of Spring’s returning. 


FROM. VHE ‘PORCH: AT 
RUNNYMEDE 


I sTaNp above the city’s rush and 
din, 
And gaze far down with calm 
and undimmed eyes, 


[275] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


To where the misty smoke wreath 
grey and dim 
Above the myriad roofs and 
spires rise; 


Still is my heart and vacant is my 
breath — 
This lovely view is breath and 
life to me, 
Why I could charm the icy soul 
of death 
With such a sight as this I stand 
and see. 


I hear no sound of labor’s din or 
stir, 
I feel no weight of worldly 
cares or fears, 
Sweet song of birds, of wings the 
soothing whirr, 
These sounds alone assail my 
listening ears. 


Unwhipt of conscience here I 
stand alone, 
‘The breezes humbly kiss my gar- 
ment’s hem; 
I am a king — the whole world is 
my throne, 
The blue grey sky my royal 
diadem. 


EQUIPMENT 


WitTH what thou gavest me, O 
Master, 
I have wrought. 


Such chances, such abilities, 
To see the end was not for my 
poor eyes, 
Thine was the impulse, thine the 
forming thought. | 


Ah, I have wrought, 
And these sad hands have right 
to tell their story, 
It was no hard up striving after 
glory, 
Catching and losing, gaining 
and failing, 
Raging me back at the world’s 
raucous railing, 
Simply and humbly from stone 
and from wood, 
Wrought I the things that to thee 
might seem good. 


If they are little, ah God! but the 
cost, 
Who but thou knowest the all 
that is lost! 
If they are few, is the workman- 
ship true? 
Try them and weigh me, what- 
e’er be my due! 


EVENING 


THE moon begins her stately ride 
Across the summer sky; 
The happy wavelets lash the 
shore,— 


The tide is rising high. 


[276] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR. 


Beneath some friendly blade of 
grass 
The lazy beetle cowers; 
The coffers of the air are filled 
With offerings from the flow- 
ers. 


And slowly buzzing o’er my head 
A swallow wings her flight; 

I hear the weary plowman sing 
As falls the restful night. 


TO PFRIMMER 


(Lines on reading “ Driftwood.’’) 


Drirtwoop gathered here and 
there 
Along the beach of time; 
Now and then a chip of truth 
’*Mid boards and boughs of rhyme; 
Driftwood gathered day by day,— 
The cypress and the oak,— 
Twigs that in some former time 
From sturdy home trees broke. 
Did this wood come floating thick 
All along down “Injin Crik?” 
Or did kind tides bring it thee 
From the past’s receding sea 
Down the stream of memory? 


TO THE MIAMI 


Kiss me, Miami, thou most con- 
stant one! 
I love thee more for that thou 
changest not. 


When Winter comes with frigid 
blast, 

Or when the blithesome Spring 
is past 

And Summer’s here with sun- 

shine hot, 

Or in sere Autumn, thou has 
still the pow’r 

To charm alike, whate’er the hour. 


Kiss me, Miami, with thy dewy 
lips; 
Throbs fast my heart e’en as 
thine own breast beats. 
My soul doth rise as rise thy 


waves, 
As each on each the dark shore 
laves 
And breaks in ripples and re- 
treats. 
There is a poem in thine every 
phase; 
Thou still has sung through all 
thy days. 


Tell me, Miami, how it was with 
thee 
When years ago Tecumseh in 
his prime 
His birch boat o’er thy waters 
sent, 
And pitched upon thy banks his 
tent. 
In that long-gone, poetic time, 
Did some bronze bard thy flowing 
stream sit by 
And sing thy praises, e’en as I? 


[277] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Did some bronze lover ’neath this 
dark old tree 
Whisper of love unto his Indian 
maid? 
And didst thou list his murmurs 
deep, 
And in thy bosom safely keep 
The many raging vows they 
said ? 
Or didst thou tell to fish and frog 
and bird 
The raptured scenes that there 
occurred? 


But, O dear stream, what volumes 
thou couldst tell 
To all who know thy language 
as I do, 
Of life and love and jealous hate! 
But now to tattle were too late,— 
Thou who hast ever been so 


true. 

Tell not to every passing idler 
here 

All those sweet tales that reached 
thine ear. 


But, silent stream, speak out and 
tell me this: 
I say that men and things are 
still the same; 
Were men as bold to do and dare? 
‘Were women then as true and 
fair? 
Did poets seek celestial flame, 
The hero die to gain a laureled 
brow, 
And women suffer, then as now? 


CHRISTMAS CAROL 


RING out, ye bells! 
All Nature swells 
With gladness at the wondrous > 
story ,— 
The world was lorn, 
But Christ is born 
To change our sadness into glory. 


Sing, earthlings, sing! 
To-night a King 
Hath come from heaven’s high 
throne to bless us. 
The outstretched hand 
O’er all the land 


Is raised in pity to caress us. 


Come at his call; 
Be joyful all; 
Away with mourning and with 
sadness! 
The heavenly choir 
With holy fire 
Their voices raise in songs of glad- 
ness. 


The darkness breaks 
And Dawn awakes, ; 
Her cheeks suffused with youthful 
blushes. 
‘The rocks and stones 
In holy tones 
singing sweeter than 
thrushes. 


Are the 


Then why should we 
In silence be, 


[278] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


When Nature lends her voice to 
praises ; 
When heaven and earth 
Proclaim the truth 
Of Him for whom that lone star 
blazes? 


No, be not still, 
But with a will 
Strike all your harps and set them 
ringing; 
On hill and heath 
Let every breath 
Throw all its power into singing! 


A SUMMER PASTORAL 
The 


It’s hot to-day. bees is 
buzzin’ 
Kinder don’t-keer-like aroun’ 
An’ fur off the warm air dances 
O’er the parchin’ roofs in town. 
In the brook the cows is standin’; 
Childern hidin’ in the hay; 


Can’t keep none of ’em a workin’, 
’Cause it’s hot to-day. 


It’s hot to-day. The sun is 
blazin’ 
Like a great big ball o’ fire; 
Seems as ef instead o’ settin’ 
It keeps mountin’ higher an’ 
higher. 
I’m as triflin’ as the children, 
Though I blame them lots an’ 
scold ; 
I keep slippin’ to the spring-house, 


Where the milk is rich an’ cold. 


‘The very air within its shadder 
Smells o’ cool an’ restful things, 
An’ a roguish little robin 
Sits above the place an’ sings. 
I don’t mean to be a shirkin’, 
But I linger by the way 
Longer, mebbe, than is needful, 
Cause it’s hot to-day. 


It’s hot to-day. The horses stum- 
ble 
Half asleep across the fiel’s; 
An’ a host o’ teasin’ fancies 
O’er my burnin’ senses steals,— 
Dreams o’ cool rooms, curtains 
lowered, 
An’ a sofy’s temptin’ look; 
Patter o’ composin’ raindrops 
Or the ripple of a brook. 


I strike a stump! “That wakes 
me sudden; 
Dreams all vanish into air. 
Lordy! how I chew my whiskers; 
*Twouldn’t do fur me to swear. 
But I have to be so keerful 
"Bout my thoughts an’ what I 
say ; 
Somethin’ might slip out unheeded, 
"Cause it’s hot to-day. 


Git up, there, Suke! you, Sal, git 
over! 

Sakes alive! how I do sweat. 
Every stitch that I’ve got on me, 
Bet a cent, is wringin’ wet. 

If this keeps up, I’ll lose my tem- 
per. 


[279] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Gee there, Sal, you lazy brute! 
Wonder who on airth this weather 
Could ’a’ be’n got up to suit? 


You, Sam, go bring a tin o’ water; 
Dash it all, don’t be so slow! 

’Pears as ef you tuk an hour 
*Tween each step to stop an’ 

blow. 

Think I want to stand a meltin’ 
Out here in this b’ilin’ sun, 

While you stop to think about it? 
Lift them feet 0’ your’n an’ run. 


It ain’t no use; I’m plumb fe- 
taggled. 
Come an’ put this team away. 
I won’t plow another furrer; 
It’s too mortal hot to-day. 
I ain’t weak, nor I ain’t lazy, 
But Ill stand this half day’s loss 
’Fore I let the devil make me 
Lose my patience an’ git cross. 


IN SUMMER TIME 


‘WHEN summer time has come, 
and all 

The world is in the magic thrall 

Of perfumed airs that lull each 
sense 

To fits of drowsy indolence; 

When skies are deepest blue above, 

And flow’rs aflush,— then most I 
love 

To start, while early dews are 
damp, | 


And wend my way in woodland 
tramp 

Where forests rustle, tree on tree, 

And sing their silent songs to me; 

Where pathways meet and path 
ways part,— 

To walk with Nature heart by 
heart, 

Till wearied out at last I lie 

Where some sweet stream steals 
singing by 

A mossy bank; where violets vie 

In color with the summer sky,— 

Or take my rod and line and hook, 

And wander to some darkling 
brook, 

Where all day long the willows 
dream, 

And idly droop to kiss the stream, 

And there to loll from morn till 
night — 

Unheeding nibble, run, or bite — 

Just for the joy of being there 

And drinking in the summer air, 

‘The summer sounds, and summer 
sights, 

That set a restless mind to rights 

When grief and pain and raging ~ 
doubt 

Of men and creeds have worn it 
out ; 

The birds’ song and the water’s 
drone, 

‘The humming bees’ low monotone, 

‘The murmur of the passing breeze, 

And all the sounds akin to these, 

‘That make a man in summer time 


[280] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Feel only fit for rest and rhyme. 
Joy springs all radiant in my 
breast ; 
Though pauper poor, than king 
more blest, . 
The tide beats in my soul so strong 
That happiness breaks forth in 
song, 
And rings aloud the welkin blue 
With all the songs I ever knew. 
O time of rapture! time of song! 
How swiftly glide thy days along 
Adown the current of the years, 
Above the rocks of grief and tears! 
"Tis wealth enough of joy for me 
In summer time to simply be. 


A THANKSGIVING POEM 


THE sun hath shed its kindly 
light, 

Our harvesting is gladly o’er 

Our fields have felt no killing 
blight, 

Our bins are filled with goodly 
store. 


From pestilence, fire, flood, and 
sword 
We have been spared by thy de- 
cree, 
And now with humble hearts, O 
Lord, 
We come to pay our thanks to 
thee. 


We feel that had our merits been 
The measure of thy gifts to us, 


We erring children, born of sin, 
Might not now be rejoicing 
thus. 


No deed of ours hath brought us 


grace; 
When thou were nigh our sight 
was dull, 
We hid in trembling from thy 
nee face: 
But thou,.O God, wert merci- 
ful. 


Thy mighty hand o’er all the land 
Hath still been open to bestow 
Those blessings which our wants 
demand 
From heaven, whence all bless- 
ings flow. 


Thou hast, with ever watchful eye, 
Looked down on us with holy 


care, | 
And from thy storehouse in the 
sky 
Hast scattered plenty every- 
where. 


Then lift we up our songs of 
praise 

To thee, O Father, good and 
kind ; 

To thee we consecrate our days; 

Be thine the temple of each 
mind. 


incense sweet our thanks 
ascend ; 


With 


[281] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Before thy works our powers 
pall ; 
Though we should strive years 
without end, 
We could not thank thee for 
them all. 


NUTTING SONG 


Tue November sun invites me, 
And although the chill wind smites 
me, 

I will wander to the woodland 
Where the laden trees await; 
And with loud and joyful singing 

I will set the forest ringing, 
As if I were king of Autumn, 
And Dame Nature were my 
mate,— 


While the squirrel in his gambols 
Fearless round about me ambles, 
As if he were bent on showing 
In my kingdom he’d a share; 
While my warm blood leaps and 
dashes, 
And my eye with freedom flashes, 
As my soul drinks deep and deeper 
Of the magic in the air. 


‘There’s a pleasure found in nut- 
ting, 
All life’s cares and griefs outshut- 
ting, 
That is fuller far and better 
Than what prouder sports im- 
part. 


Who could help a carol trilling 

As he sees the baskets filling? 

Why, the flow of song keeps run- 
ning 

O’er the high walls of the heart. 


So when I am home returning, 
When the sun is lowly burning, 
I will once more wake the echoes 

With a happy song of praise,— 
For the golden sunlight blessing, 
And the breezes’ soft caressing, 
And the precious boon of living 

In the sweet November days. 


LOVE’S PICTURES 


LIKE the blush upon the rose 
When the wooing south wind 
speaks, 
Kissing soft its petals, 
Are thy cheeks. | 


Tender, soft, beseeching, true, 
Like the stars that deck the skies 

Through the ether sparkling, 
Are thine eyes. 


Like the song of happy birds, 
When the woods with spring re- 
joice, 
In their blithe awak’ning, 
Is thy voice. 


Like soft threads of clustered silk 
O’er thy face so pure and fair, 
Sweet in its profusion, 
Is thy hair. 


[282] 


: Like a fair but fragile vase, 

Triumph of the carver’s art, 
i Graceful formed and slender,— 
| Thus thou art. 


Ah, thy cheek, thine eyes, thy 
voice, 
‘And thy hair’s delightful wave 
Make me, I'll confess it, 
Thy poor slave! 


THE OLD HOMESTEAD 


"Tis an old deserted homestead 
On the outskirts of the town, 
Where the roof is all moss-cov- 
ered, 
And the walls are tumbling 
down; 
But around that little cottage 
Do my brightest mem’ries cling, 
For "twas there I spent the mo- 
ments 
Of my youth,—life’s happy 
spring. 


I remember how I used to 
Swing upon the old front gate, 
While the robin in the tree tops 
Sung a night song to his mate; 
And how later in the evening, 
As the beaux were wont to do, 
Mr. Perkins, in the parlor, 
Sat and sparked my sister Sue. 





| : PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


There my mother — heaven bless 
her! — 
Kissed or spanked as was our 
need, 
And by smile or stroke implanted 
In our hearts fair virtue’s seed ; 
While my father, man of wisdom, 
Lawyer keen, and farmer stout, 
Argued long with neighbor Dob- 


bins 
How the corn crops would turn 
out. 
Then the quiltings and the 
dances — 


How my feet were wont to fly, 

While the moon peeped through 
the barn chinks 

From her stately place on high. 
Oh, those days, so sweet, so happy, 

Ever backward o’er me roll; 
Still the music of that farm life 

Rings an echo in my soul. 


Now the old place is deserted, 
And the walls are falling down; 
All who made the home life cheer- 
ful, 
Now have died or moved to 
town. 

But about that dear old cottage 
Shall my mem’ries ever cling, 
For ’twas there I spent the mo- 

ments 
Of my _ youth,— life’s 
spring. 


happy 


[283] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


ON THE DEATH OF W. C. 


Tuou arrant robber, Death! 
Couldst thou not find 

Some lesser one than he 

To rob of breath,— 

Some poorer mind 

Thy prey to be? 


His mind was like the sky,— 
As pure and free; 
His heart was broad and open 
As the sea. 
His soul shone purely through his 
face, 
And Love made him her dwelling 
place. 


Not less the scholar than the 
friend, 
Not less a friend than man; 
The manly life did shorter end 
Because so broad it ran. 


Weep not for him, unhappy Muse! 

His merits found a grander use 

Some other-where. God wisely 
sees 

The place that needs his qualities. 

Weep not for him, for when. Death 
lowers 

O’er youth’s ambrosia-scented bow- 
ers 

He only plucks the choicest flow- 
ers. 


AN OLD MEMORY 


How sweet. the music sounded 
‘That summer long ago, 

When you were by my side, love, 
To list its gentle flow. 


I saw your eyes a-shining, 
I felt your rippling hair, 

I kissed your pearly cheek, love, 
And had no thought of care. 


And gay or sad the music, 
With subtle charm replete; 

I found in after years, love 
*Twas you that made it sweet. 


For standing where we heard it, 
I hear again the strain; 

It wakes my heart, but thrills it 
With sad, mysterious pain. 


It pulses not so joyous 

As when you stood with me, 
And hand in hand we listened 
_ To that low melody. 


Oh, could the years turn back, 
love! 
Oh, could events be changed 
To what they were that time, love, 
Before we were estranged; 


Wert thou once more a maiden 
Whose smile was gold to me; 

Were I once more the lover 
Whose word was life to thee,— 


[284] 


SSS eee 
r . 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


~O God! could all be altered, 


The pain, the grief, the strife, 
And wert thou — as thou shouldst 
be — 
My true and loyal wife! - 


But all my tears are idle, 


And all my wishes vain. 


“What once you were to me, love, 


You may not be again. 


For I, alas! like others, 
Have missed my dearest aim. 
I asked for love. Oh, mockery! 
Fate comes to me with fame! 


A CAREER 


“BREAK me my bounds, and let 
me fly 

To regions vast of boundless sky; 

Nor I, like piteous Daphne, be 

Root-bound. Ah, no! I would 
be free 

As yon same bird that in its flight 

Outstrips the range of mortal 


sight; 

Free as the mountain streams that 
gush 

From bubbling springs, and down- 
ward rush 

Across the serrate mountain’s 
side,— 

The rocks o’erwhelmed, their 


banks defied,— 
And like the passions in the soul, 
Swell into torrents as they roll. 


Oh, circumscribe me not by rules 

That serve to lead the minds of 
fools! 

But give me pow’r to work my 
will, 


And at my deeds the world shall 


thrill. 
My words shall rouse the slumb’r- 
ing zest 
That hardly stirs in manhood’s 
breast ; 
And as the sun feeds lesser lights, 
As planets have their satellites, 
So round about me will I bind 
The men who prize a master 
mind!” 


He lived a silent life alone, 

And laid him down when it was 
done; 

And at his head was placed a 
stone 

On which was carved a name un- 
known! 


ON THE RIVER 


THE sun is low, 

The waters flow, 

My boat is dancing to and fro. 
The eve is still, 

Yet from the hill 

The killdeer echoes loud and shrill. 


The paddles plash, 
The wavelets dash, 
We see the summer lightning flash; 


[285] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


While now and then, 
In marsh and fen 
Too muddy for the feet of men, 


Where neither bird 

Nor beast has stirred, 

The spotted bullfrog’s croak is 
heard. 

‘The wind is high, 

The grasses sigh, 

The sluggish stream goes sobbing 
by. 


And far away 

The dying day 

Has cast its last effulgent ray; 
‘While on the land 

The shadows stand 

Proclaiming that the eve’s at hand. 


POOR WITHERED ROSE 
A Song 


Poor withered rose, she gave it me, 

Half in revenge and half in glee; 

Its petals not so pink by half 

As are her lips when curled to 
laugh, 

As are her cheeks when dimples 
gay 

In merry mischief o’er them play. 


Chorus 
Forgive, forgive, it seems un- 
kind 
To cast thy petals to the 
wind ; 


But it is right, and lest I err 
So scatter I all thought of her. 


Poor withered rose, so like my 
heart, 

That wilts at sorrow’s cruel dart. 

Who hath not felt the winter’s 
blight 

When every hope seemed warm 
and bright? 

Who doth not know love unre- 
turned, 

E’en when the heart most wildly 
burned? - 


Poor withered rose, thou _liest 
dead ; 

Too soon thy beauty’s bloom hath 
fled. 

"Tis not without a tearful ruth 

I watch decay thy blushing routh; 

And though thy life goes out in 
dole, 


Thy perfume lingers in my soul. 


WORN OUT 


You bid me hold my peace 
And dry my fruitless tears, 
Forgetting that I bear 
A pain beyond my years. 


You say that I should smile 
And drive the gloom away; 
I would, but sun and smiles 


_ Have left my life’s dark day. 


[286] 





PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


All time seems cold and void, 
And naught but tears remain; 


_ Life’s music beats for me 


A melancholy strain. 


I used at first to hope, 

But hope is past and gone; 
And now without a ray 

My cheerless life drags on. 


Like to an ash-stained hearth 
When all its fires are spent; 
Like to an autumn wood 
By storm winds rudely shent,— 


So sadly goes my heart, 
Unclothed of hope and peace; 
It asks not joy again, 
But only seeks release. 


JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 


(From a Westerner’s Point of 


View. ) 


No matter what you call it, 
Whether genius, or art, 
He sings the simple songs that 
come 
The closest to your heart. 
Fur trim an’ skillful phrases, 
I do not keer a jot; 
*Tain’t the words alone, but feel- 
in’s, 
That tech the tender spot. 
An’ that’s jest why I love him,— 
Why, he’s got sech human 
feelin’, 
An’ in ey’ry song he gives us, 
You kin see it creepin’, stealin’, 


Through the core the tears go 
tricklin’, 
But the edge is bright an’ 
smiley ; 
I never saw a poet 


Like that poet Whitcomb Riley. 


His heart keeps beatin’ time with 
our’n 
In measures fast or slow; 
He tells us jest the same ol’ things 
Our souls have learned to know. 
He paints our joys an’ sorrers 
In a way so stric’ly true, 
That a body can’t help knowin’ 
That he has felt them too. 

If there’s a lesson to be taught, 
He never fears to teach it, 
An’ he puts the food so good an’ 

low 
‘That the humblest one kin reach 
it. 
Now in our time, when poets 
rhyme 
For money, fun, or fashion, 
*Tis good to hear one voice so clear 
That thrills with honest passion. 
So let the others build their songs, 
An’ strive to polish highly,— 
There’s none of them kin tech the 
heart 
Like our own Whitcomb Riley. 


A MADRIGAL 


DreEAM days of fond delight and 
hours 
As rosy-hued as dawn, are mine. 


[287] 


THE COMPLETE POEMS OF 


Love’s drowsy wine, 
Brewed from the heart of Passion 
flowers, 
Flows softly o’er my lips 
And save thee, all the world is 
in eclipse. 


There were no light if thou wert 
not; 
The sun would be too sad to 
shine, 
And all the line 
Of hours from dawn would be a 
blot; 
And Night would haunt the 
skies, 
An unlaid ghost with staring 
dark-ringed eyes. 


Oh, love, if thou wert not my love, 
And I perchance not thine — 
what then? 
Could gift of men 
Or favor of the God above, 
Plant aught in this bare heart 
Or teach this tongue the sing- 
er’s soulful art? 


Ah, no! ’Tis love, and love alone 
That spurs my soul so surely on; 
Turns night to dawn, 

And thorns to roses fairest blown; 
And winter drear to spring — 
Oh, were it not for love I could 

not sing! 


A STARRY NIGHT 


A cLoup fell down from the heav- 
ens, | 
And broke on the mountain’s 
brow; | 
It scattered the dusky fragments 
All over the vale below. 


The moon and the stars were anx- 
ious - 
To know what its fate might be; 
So they rushed to the azure op’n- 
ing, 
And all peered down to see. 


A LYRIC 


My lady love lives far away, 
And oh my heart is sad by day, 
And ah my tears fall fast by night, 


What may I do in such a plight. 


Why, miles grow few when love is 


fleet, 

And love, you know, hath flying 
feet ; 

Break off thy sighs and witness 
this, 


How poor a thing mere distance is. 


My love knows not I love her so, 

And would she scorn me, did she 
know? 

How may the tale I would impart 

Attract her ear and storm her 
heart ? 


[288] 


PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR 


Calm thou the tempest in my 
breast, 

Who loves in silence loves the 
best, 

But bide thy time, she will awake, 

No night so dark but morn will 
break. 


But though my heart so strongly 
yearn, 

My lady loves me not in turn, 

How may I win the blest reply 

That my void heart shall satisfy. 


Love breedeth love, be thou but 


true, 

And soon thy love shall love thee, 
too; 

If Fate hath meant you heart for 
heart, 

There’s naught may keep you 
twain apart. 


HOW SHALL I WOO THEE 


How shall I woo thee to win thee, 


mine own? 

Say in what tongue shall I tell 
of my love. 

I who was fearless so timid have 


grown, 


All that was eagle has turned 
into dove. 
The path from the meadow that 
leads to the bars 
Is more to me now than the path 
of the stars. 


How shall I woo thee to win thee, 
mine own, 
Thou who art fair and as far as 
the moon? 
Had I the strength of the torrent’s 
wild tone, 
Had I the sweetness of warblers 
in June; 
The strength and the sweetness 
might charm and persuade, 
But neither have I my petition to 
aid. 


How shall I woo thee to win thee, 
mine own? 
How shall I traverse the dis- 
tance between 
My humble cot and your glorious 
throne? 
How shall a clown gain the ear 
of a queen? 
Oh teach me the tongue that shall 
please thee the best, 
For till I have won thee my heart 
may not rest. 


[289] 

















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